Love's Creation
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Sixth story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" Series. Excerpt: And suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through her, then was gone. She felt the child slip from her - and then silence.
1. Chapter One

"Love's Creation," part of the "As I Was Drifting Away" series follows these stories, in order:  
  
"As I Was Drifting Away," "In Your Eyes," "Some Say," "Stony Limits," and "Beauty and Honor."  
  
Hope you enjoy!  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None, really. Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I am thankful for having them to enjoy, though.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter One  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
This was a war.  
  
Well, not really, at least not yet. There were, indeed, detonations, they discovered, at Kumchang-ri, but whether they were nuclear in nature had yet to be confirmed. And Jed was not about to propel any of his soldiers into danger without being damned sure about it. Still, this placed the U.S. and North Korea teetering on the brink of war. Reluctantly, Jed stepped up the alert status in the DMZ and held private phone conversations with the Prime Minister of Great Britain as well as members of the U.N. Security Council.  
  
No, this was not war. Not yet. And Donna prayed they never made it there.  
  
So they waited, waited for more intelligence information, waited for indications of what their U.N. allies would support, waited for any evidence that North Korea might back off. And while they waited, life in the White House continued at its usual chaotic pace, and Donna Moss Bartlet began discovering just what being First Lady meant.  
  
It meant talking, which, fortunately, she was good at. Talking at luncheons, and clubs, and charity events. It meant promoting the President's agenda, and continuing the cause for healthcare for children that Abbey Bartlet had begun years before. It meant keeping a grueling pace, one she could have handled more easily if she didn't have to stop by the bathroom before every engagement to throw up.  
  
She usually began her day hunched over the residence toilet, Jed patiently holding her long hair away from harm. Then, she splashed water on her face, accepted the glass of ginger ale and five crackers he religiously prepared, and gingerly eased into the morning. These days had revealed another layer to him, one she had sensed was there, but had not really experienced before. Maybe it was living with four women for so long, but he seemed to know what she needed before she did: a cool cloth, a neck rub, a sip of water, or sprite, or ginger ale. The tenderness with which he waited on her was so at odds with the strength and power he displayed just one floor down.  
  
Then they parted, each immersed in his or her own schedules, only to come back together, sometimes for supper, but usually not until long after that. Mostly she fell asleep before he made it upstairs, and woke in his arms the next morning. She didn't feel much like making love, her body warring against fatigue and nausea, but he seemed to understand, and she reminded herself, he had been through this three times before. It was enough just to know that he would be there eventually after her luncheons and meetings, after his own hectic agenda. He would be there.  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet, are you all right?"  
  
Donna Bartlet, First Lady of the United States, looked away from the tiny finger sandwich that she had managed to nibble without immediately regurgitating. Although she attempted to maintain nonchalance, she could read concern in the speaker's voice.  
  
Mustering a smile she hoped gave some semblance of sincerity, she replied, "Yes, of course."  
  
But she wasn't. She was doing her very best not to bolt for the nearest restroom, hand over her mouth in an attempt to avoid throwing up in front of patrons to the Women Mayors of America luncheon.  
  
With effort, she focused again on the person who had interrupted her tedious concentration. The woman had dark hair, too dark, as if she had aged past the time that such a look could pass for natural. Her skin wrinkled in more than the usual places and her neck hung in ropey loose skin. But she did seem genuinely worried. Let's see - Mayor of Phoenix? Flagstaff? Butte, Montana? Maybe not. Donna mentally fussed at her normally sharp memory for its betrayal. The morning sickness, which, instead of dissipating after her third month, had decided to linger with her on into the day now, zapped any energy for her usual quick wit and reflexes.  
  
From the corner of her eye, she saw Zoey Bartlet move next to her, the same concern on her face, but dominated by a determination to do something.  
  
"Excuse me," Zoey interrupted smoothly and loudly enough for those close by to hear, "could I see you for just a moment?"  
  
Oh, thank you. "All right." She turned back to the group, somehow hanging on to the contents of her stomach for a little while longer. "I'll be right back."  
  
Most of the guests nodded obliviously and Donna tried not to run through the doors. When she finally reached the restroom, she wasn't even aware of her step-daughter's presence until she emerged, pale and shaking.  
  
"Donna? You okay?"  
  
"Oh! Zoey. You startled me. I didn't know - "  
  
But this young lady was Jed Bartlet's daughter. There was little you could pull over her eyes. "You're pregnant." A statement, not a question.  
  
Pressing a cold cloth to her neck, Donna looked at the face that was a striking reflection of both her father and mother. No use to deny it now. She and Jed had planned on telling his girls soon, anyway. With a quick nod, she acknowledged the deduction.  
  
"How far along?" Zoey asked.  
  
Okay. Now what to say? They had batted this back and forth, trying to determine whether to fudge a little or just go with the truth. Then something C.J. had told her once flashed through her mind - something Abbey Bartlet had said, although she didn't remember the exact quote. The truth will do it every time.  
  
"Five months," she said, and watched as Jed's daughter mentally counted back. To her surprise, Zoey didn't seem shocked at all.  
  
"You're not showing much," she observed simply. "How's Dad feel?"  
  
Donna grinned. "He's almost like a kid, himself, about it. I've never seen him so excited."  
  
She refrained from details about how Jed would hold her in his arms, his ear to her stomach, sometimes pressing light kisses across the small bulge blossoming, or how his hands always seemed to find their way there. There were some things children just didn't want to know about their parents.  
  
"Well," Zoey noted, "if you keep barfing at parties, somebody's gonna figure it out before long. When are you guys planning on going public?"  
  
Good question, one they had pondered for a few weeks, but hadn't actually settled on. They knew they should tell family first, and, honestly, what had held them back was how Jed's girls would take it. Zoey's acceptance brought hope. But there were still Liz, Ellie, and even Annie to go. And Donna's parents, but she knew that was no problem. Her mother had already started hinting for grandkids, anyway.  
  
"They will be gorgeous," she had gushed confidently when she got over the shock of finding out who her son-in-law would be and got to thinking about how his and Donna's genes would mix.  
  
"There's just so much going on," Donna confessed. "Air traffic controllers grumbling. North Korea. Troops on alert at the DMZ. He may send the Secretary of State. He doesn't want a war."  
  
Zoey nodded, as if everybody's father had to deal with such problems. "Yeah. That really sucks, I know." Her eyes softened along with her voice. "Dad's concerned that he's not spending enough time with you."  
  
"Really?" That was a surprise. She didn't know that Jed had even spoken with Zoey much recently.  
  
"I called the other day, just to check on things. He feels guilty, I think. He did with Mom, too - " She stopped and cringed. "I'm sorry, Donna. I didn't mean to - "  
  
Donna smiled and shook her head, touched that the younger woman would be sensitive enough about her to feel regret. "It's okay, Zoey. He was married to your mom for thirty-five years. You don't have to tip toe around that for me. We actually talk about Abbey quite often."  
  
"Really?" There were tears in Abbey's youngest daughter's eyes, now.  
  
"Yeah. He loved her very much, you know that?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. But I didn't want to make you feel -"  
  
"It's a significant part of his life. And I'm glad now that I'm a part of his life. I love him, Zoey. I love him very much. You know that, right?"  
  
Zoey nodded. "I know. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in his, too." And she startled Donna with an impulsive hug. They stood, arms around each other for a long moment, an unexpected bonding taking place right there in the ladies lounge. Finally, the First Daughter pulled away and wiped at damp eyes.  
  
"Okay, the women mayors will be wondering where you got off to. Let's go back."  
  
"Yeah." Donna clutched Zoey's hand in a final squeeze. "Thanks."  
  
"What'd the doctor say?" Jed asked, pouring himself just a taste of brandy and sitting back in the chair. His tie lay tossed over the couch, crumpled on top of his jacket, which was equally crumpled. He had flicked open the first three buttons of his shirt and now leaned his head back against the upholstery, eyes closed, finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. Lines of fatigue creased his face more deeply than usual.  
  
She glanced at the clock, even though she had been glancing at it every thirty minutes for the past two hours. Midnight, and he had just walked in, having left over eighteen hours before. Swallowing a question about how he felt, she lay on the couch, feet propped. "Everything's fine. I'm at twenty-four weeks. Over halfway. She wants to do an ultra sound next visit."  
  
"I'll clear my schedule to be there," he assured her, opening his eyes. His sad smile acknowledged the fact that he was supposed to have gone that day, but couldn't get away.  
  
"Okay. How are things with the air traffic controllers?"  
  
A deep sigh lifted his chest. "Tenuous at best. I don't think we're gonna win that one without using some muscle."  
  
"But you don't want to?" His body language telegraphed that clearly.  
  
He shook his head. "Nobody wins. Eleven thousand six hundred members of the Air Traffic Controllers struck early in Reagan's first term. He fired them all when they defied a back-to-work order."  
  
"I remember," she acknowledged, although it was a vague memory. "What happened?"  
  
"Put in managers, loyalists, and scabs to run things. He was just damned lucky that we didn't have 747s clipping each other in the skies over JFK and O'Hare."  
  
She absorbed that information, wishing he didn't have this additional stress on top of Korea. Like he needed anything else now.  
  
"Do you think they'll strike?" she finally asked.  
  
"It's illegal," he stated.  
  
"Will they?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"What will you do?"  
  
He thought for a long moment, staring at the brandy, which glowed golden brown in the glass. "I don't know."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment before the door opened and Charlie stuck his head in, consistently wary about what he might interrupt. His relieved sigh amused Donna. "Mister President?"  
  
"Yeah?" Jed answered, not looking up.  
  
"Ms. McNally and Mr. McGarry are here to see you."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The two entered, both with concerned faces, both apologetic for the interruption. "Mister President, Mrs. Bartlet," Nancy began.  
  
"Nancy?"  
  
"We have confirmation, sir, that the detonations contained radioactive fallout. It was a nuclear test, Mister President."  
  
This time the sigh betrayed pain. Whether it was physical or emotional, Donna couldn't tell. She just watched, feeling separated suddenly, disconnected from him. This was his area, his decision. They would talk later, she knew. He shared with her what he could, felt her out for opinions, something that had not yet ceased to amaze her, but at this moment, the decisions fell solely on his shoulders. She watched carefully for fatigue, for pain, for indecision. Knew she saw the first two, but not the third. Never the third.  
  
"All right," he finally said. "Freeze all economic trading. And pull back heavy-fuel oil shipments. Demand an immediate and comprehensive IAEA inspection. Tell them we know. Don't take a denial. We KNOW. Bottom line. No more chances."  
  
Nancy nodded and the expression revealed both anxiety and approval. "Yes, sir. Thank you, Mister President."  
  
He sat back, ran a hand through hair that was already scattered. "Damn." That sounded haggard, weary.  
  
"Mister President?" Leo started.  
  
Jed jumped just a little, as if he had forgotten the Chief of Staff was even there. He grunted his acknowledgement.  
  
"It's all you can do. There is no other choice." Bless you, Leo, she thought. Even though Jed realized he had done what was necessary, he still needed that affirmation.  
  
"Yeah." But her husband's answer did not carry absolute conviction, not by a long shot.  
  
"We'll probably need you in the -"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay. Thank you, Mister President." She found it strange that Leo was so formal, after all the years between them, but she saw the philosophy behind it. Jed was the President of the United States and Leo wanted him to think that way in times like this.  
  
Was the wait over? She didn't know, but a new step had been taken, and it was a big step. He shifted in the chair, bracing his arms to push up, despite the obvious exhaustion that bled through every pore of his body. Before he could rise, she stopped him, standing over him and letting her fingers glide in slow circles at his temples, across his forehead, down his neck and shoulders. He groaned in appreciation, lowering his head to give her better access down his back. The tight muscles under her hands resisted the pressure, but she figured it helped, anyway. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and stood, heading back onto the firing line. She wondered how much longer he could function without sleep.  
  
Turning to take her face in his hands, he kissed her softly, letting his lips linger on hers long enough for her blood to pump a little harder. "Thanks," he whispered when he pulled away. "I'll see you later tonight."  
  
"This morning," she corrected ruefully.  
  
He sighed and conceded a slight smile. "This morning."  
  
As he walked through the doors, she watched him square his shoulders, watched the power of the Presidency bolster him, infuse him with the energy he needed. And she knew he would do what he had to do. She knew it.  
  
Jed's children knew. C.J. knew. Margaret knew. Leo knew. Ron knew. He parents knew. It was time to tell the world. But before they did, she had to tell someone else.  
  
"Josh?" Donna stood in the door to his office as she had hundreds of times before, the same smell of coffee and danishes, the same sounds of computer key clicks, racing feet, and constant, overflowing, brisk conversations. For a moment, she felt as if she should be handing him files and ridiculing as many of his comments as possible. The good old days. The thought brought a grin to her face and that's how he first noticed her.  
  
"Donna!" His step toward her faltered as he shook off the same nostalgic sensation she was having. "Mrs. Bartlet," he amended, but not without an answering grin.  
  
"And don't you forget it," she teased.  
  
They stood for a minute before she swallowed and got on with it. With determination, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.  
  
His brow rose in surprise and question. Deep breath. "There's - there's something I need to tell you, Josh," she began.  
  
He perched nervously on the edge of his desk. "Ahkay."  
  
This was harder than she had thought it would be and she didn't know why. This was Josh, her friend, her former boss. And suddenly she did know why. The what-if, the never-happened. Margaret's words came back now. "We knew it would happen eventually - "  
  
But it hadn't happened. Wouldn't happen. What would he think? How would he feel? And more than anyone else, except for Jed, she cared what he thought.  
  
"Okay, I'll just say this, straight out - no hem-hawing, no delays, no beating around the bush, no stall - "  
  
"Donna!"  
  
"Okay. Here goes. You know I'm married - "  
  
"I heard something about that, yeah."  
  
"I wasn't finished," she scolded.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You know I'm married, now, and - you see - there are things married people do - "  
  
"Okay," he interrupted, "you're not gonna tell me about - "  
  
"Josh!"  
  
"I'm just sayin' - "  
  
"Josh."  
  
"See, the President is my boss and there are some things I just don't really want to know - "  
  
"Josh, will you shut up and let me tell you I'm pregnant?"  
  
The abrupt silence that fell controlled the room for a full minute before he found the sense to speak. Even then it was not a particularly impressive response.  
  
"What?"  
  
That wasn't exactly how she had planned to say it, but now it was out. "I said, 'I'm pregnant.'"  
  
"Pregnant?"  
  
"Having a baby. In the family way. Knocked up."  
  
Oops. That was probably going too far. His eyes widened. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah," she breathed and laughed all at once.  
  
"Does - does the President know?"  
  
She laughed again. "Well, yeah."  
  
"Oh course. That was stupid." He ran a hand through his hair. "You guys didn't waste any time, huh?" A cringe twisted his face. "Oh, God. I can't believe I said that. I mean, since it's the President - "  
  
"It's okay, Josh. And truthfully, this was - well, this was not exactly planned."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah." She held his gaze pointedly, willing him to comprehend so she wouldn't have to say it right out.  
  
"You mean, you - before -"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Eyes wide, he stood abruptly and paced the small office. "You're telling me that the President got - got you pregnant and then - and then 'did the right thing'?"  
  
Oh God! He thought that? She felt her jaw drop, knew she stared at him with eyes just as wide. How could he-  
  
"Joshua Lyman!" she snapped. "What do you think of me? Of HIM?"  
  
Now he got that look as if someone had just jerked his favorite toy away. "Well, you said - see, it sounded like - Oh, hell, Donna. If you had to get married, if you needed - well, I would have - I could have - "  
  
Now she softened, hearing what he couldn't quite say. And even though she was still hurt and a little miffed, she was also touched.  
  
"Josh, you're too sweet sometimes. Goofily sweet, but sweet."  
  
The total confusion still swirled in his eyes.  
  
"Do you think Jed would sacrifice the rest of his life to marry someone just to 'do the right thing'?"  
  
He thought about it. "Well, yeah." Okay, he was probably right.  
  
"Then, do you think I would marry someone I didn't love just because I needed a legitimate father for my baby?"  
  
This time he smiled. "Well, no, no I don't."  
  
Placing a hand on his arm, she assured him, "Jed didn't know I was pregnant when he proposed. I wasn't sure, myself. It came as quite a shock to both of us." Now her eyes darkened a bit as she recalled those anguished days when she considered leaving for his sake. Fortunately, he had been stubborn enough to keep her there. "As a matter of fact, I tried to be the one to 'do right.'"  
  
"What do you mean?" He had perched again on the desk, more relaxed now.  
  
"I tried to leave, thought it would be best for him and the country."  
  
"But?"  
  
"He wouldn't let me. He said -" Tears formed in her eyes as she heard again the words from her husband. "He said he was in love for the second and last time in his life and he wouldn't let anyone take that away from him. Not even me."  
  
Now Josh's eyes were suspiciously bright, as well, and he nodded silently. For a moment they just looked at each other, both remembering the early days. Both pondering future days. Finally, he rose and hugged her tightly, relating so many emotions in that one gesture. When he pulled back, he was smiling.  
  
"Congratulations, Mrs. Bartlet," he said formally, "to you and to the President."  
  
"Thank you, Mister Lyman," she returned in kind.  
  
As she turned to leave the office, Josh's soft call stopped her. "Donna?"  
  
She glanced back, brow raised.  
  
"Tell him - tell him I said, "Way to go.'"  
  
A blush colored her cheeks, but she nodded anyway.  
  
Two weeks after her conversation with Josh, Donna sat with Jed in the Residence, hands entwined with his, watching the news conference. There had already been a minor leak, orchestrated by C.J. to feel out the possible attitudes they might encounter. He squeezed her hand as the press secretary stepped to the podium. She squeezed back and dragged in a deep breath.  
  
"Okay, ladies and gentlemen," C.J. greeted smoothly. "Several items on the docket today. The President is considering sending the Secretary of State to speak with the North Korean President about the situation there. He is hopeful that this would reduce our heightened state of alert with Korea. We continue to operate at increased alert at the DMZ, and the embargo on heavy-fuel oils remains in effect. We'll have updates for you as soon as possible."  
  
She had not even taken a breath before the first question was thrown toward her. "When does the President plan on sending the Secretary?"  
  
Composed as usual, C.J. fielded the reporter's pitch easily. "There's no definite date set, Sandy, but my guess is within the next two weeks."  
  
"What's the plan if this doesn't work?"  
  
"Well, as I said, the President is hopeful it will. He does not take military action lightly, but he will take it, if necessary."  
  
"Does that mean he's considering military action?"  
  
"That means he's considering what it takes to keep our country, and indeed, the world safe from increased nuclear activity and threats."  
  
"C.J.!"  
  
She scanned the crowd, pointing to a slender male reporter near the back. "Carlos?"  
  
"C.J., what information do you have about the possibility of negotiations between air traffic controllers and the FAA falling apart? How does the President feel about a possible strike?"  
  
She glanced up at the group coolly. "The President has made it clear that any strike will present unacceptable dangers to air passengers and he will act in whatever manner he needs to keep these workers on duty."  
  
"Like President Reagan?"  
  
"Well, I hesitate to compare President Bartlet's handling of such a situation with that of President Reagan, but I'd say it's not out of the realm of possibility."  
  
Donna turned to her husband in surprise. "You're not going to fire them, are you?"  
  
He smiled, shaking his head. "She's just floating it, seeing what reaction it'll get."  
  
When no responses immediately followed, C.J. took a breath and continued casually. "Okay, just one more story that might be of some minor interest. The White House is pleased to announce that the President and First Lady are expecting a baby. They, of course, appreciate your thoughts and best wishes at this ti- "  
  
"C.J.!"  
  
Here they came. Donna clutched Jed's hand tighter.  
  
"Steve?"  
  
"Can you give us details?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About Mrs. Bartlet's pregnancy."  
  
"Gee, Steve, the President didn't share details about that with me, and I don't think the he would really appreciate my telling the world, even if he had."  
  
A low rumble of amusement scattered across the room. Donna blushed at the press secretary's insinuation, but knew exactly what she was doing. Jed released her hand and stretched his arm around her shoulders.  
  
"I meant a due date, C.J.," the reporter clarified, his tone indicating he was not fooled by her feigned ignorance.  
  
"Ah. Sure. The First Lady's physician has given an estimated due date of late November, but she is watching closely because there is a history in the First Lady's family of premature births. The First Lady, herself, was actually three weeks early."  
  
That was true. C.J. had verified it with Donna's mother just that morning.  
  
"The President, however, to my understanding, was a week and a half late, which, for those of you who travel with him, will come as no real surprise."  
  
More chuckling. C.J. commanded the room. "Janet?"  
  
"Sounds like a honeymoon baby, C.J. Was this planned? Did the President and First Lady anticipate starting a family right away?"  
  
"Well, guys, again we're into some personal details, but I'll just say that the President and Mrs. Bartlet are thrilled about the baby and anxiously await his or her arrival."  
  
"Are they going to find out the sex?"  
  
"Not at this time. They both want to be surprised." Again.  
  
"C.J.!"  
  
"Okay, that's a full lid. If there's an update on Korea, we'll let you know." She gathered her folders and exited amid a few more unanswered questions from the press corps.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Donna sank back on the couch into her husband's arms. "Okay. That was okay," she decided. "Don't you think? Don't you think that was okay?"  
  
When she opened her eyes, without really remembering closing them, she found him watching her, a smile on his lips, the constant fatigue he had fought the past few months unapparent. "What?"  
  
"It was okay, Baby. I love you."  
  
Her response was muted by his kiss, his lips moving slowly and gently on hers, his hand slipping, as it often did now, to her abdomen, resting over the place where their child grew, a place that had seemed to blossom suddenly and noticeably, after almost seven months of pregnancy. They had to admit the slowness to show had been quite beneficial in allowing for some time between the wedding and the announcement.  
  
As his lips slid across her jaw and to her neck, she moaned. Finally, the morning sickness had eased, then disappeared altogether, and by her dutiful reading of What to Expect When You're Expecting, she agreed that the second trimester was much more enjoyable than the first. It had taken longer than the book promised, but eventually, her appetite returned, her energy was up, and her libido soared. This last, of course, delighted her husband, who had been quite patient through the early, miserable part of her pregnancy, and who was eager to take every advantage of her changing hormones.  
  
Now she wondered what his immediate plans were as his hands rose to her swelling breasts. He leaned back on the couch arm, one foot on the floor, and pulled her down between his legs to recline against him. His fingers ran up and down her sides, over her stomach and breasts, finally slipping lower. She felt his hard response to her body beneath her.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Aren't you supposed to -" Breaking off for a low moan, she tried to reclaim her concentration as he eased down her sides and over her hips. "Aren't you - "  
  
"I've got a few minutes," he assured her, but she didn't believe him. Any moment now Leo or Charlie would be waltzing in and she would be humiliated. Of course, it was not as if that had not happened before, but she tried to avoid it, nevertheless.  
  
"No - Ah! - Stop! I can't think when you - "  
  
"I don't want you to think," he murmured, nibbling at her ear. "I just want you to relax."  
  
"But - " It was no use. Her body sided with him, ignoring her attempts at control. He let his hands slide between them, pressing firmly against her lower back. She hadn't even mentioned it hurt, but he knew anyway. And he continued to rub softly as he whispered how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. Finally, he pulled her close against him and stretched his arms around her so that his hands again splayed possessively across her belly. They lay like that for several minutes, no sound in the room except the steady ticking of the clock and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He meant only to hold her, only to offer comfort, she knew, but he couldn't help the very obvious reaction their intimate position had provoked. Unfortunately, her thoughts of moving to the next logical step disappeared when the expected knock at the door came.  
  
"Damn."  
  
He chuckled. "At least they're a little late."  
  
"But I wanted to - "  
  
"Don't' worry," he assured her. "Since your interest has returned - with a vengeance, I might add - I've started clearing a good a portion of my evenings. If Korea will just leave us the hell alone for a couple of hours, I'm yours tonight." One final nudge from his hips sealed the promise and she conceded the moment.  
  
"All right. But you've got a problem right now that I don't think you want Leo or Charlie to be witness to."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed, taking a deep breath. "And you're gorgeous body pressed against my problem isn't helping a bit."  
  
She took the hint and eased off, her eyes dropping automatically to his trousers and she was reminded of her thoughts the first time she had been privy to such a view. Very nice. Very nice, indeed. "Drape the afghan over you and I'll answer the door."  
  
He moved with a mixture of discomfort and reluctance, but as he dragged the blanket across his lap, he motioned that the coast was clear, at least for the moment. Donna smoothed her dress self-consciously and opened the door.  
  
"Donna," Leo greeted. "You're looking ravishing today."  
  
"Hey!" Jed protested cheerfully. "That's my wife you're ogling there."  
  
Leo smiled and Donna was glad to see that these two friends appeared much more at ease with each other recently. "With all due respect, Mister President," the Chief of Staff accused, "it appears as if she's been ogled already."  
  
A bright flush colored her cheeks. Were they that obvious? Jed laughed and stood, tossing the afghan across the back of the couch, unconcerned with his condition. Maybe it wasn't as apparent anymore.  
  
"Geez," the Chief of Staff groaned. "I'm sorry." Or maybe it was.  
  
"Nah." Jed waved off the apology. "We were done talkin'."  
  
Leo lifted a brow and Donna could hear his doubt even though he didn't voice it. But, true to form, he recovered quickly and plunged ahead.  
  
"Phone call for you, Mister President," he announced, and Donna stared at him.  
  
Jed cocked his head in suspicion. "Since when are you a phone messenger, Leo?"  
  
"Since the caller is the President of North Korea." 


	2. Chapter Two

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter Two  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
He didn't see her when he entered. She knew because he didn't try to cover the utter exhaustion that visibly dragged him to the chair and refused, even though it was two a.m., to wait even for the discarding of his clothes. Standing just inside the bathroom door, she watched for another few minutes, hating to spy, but needing to see how he really felt, because he wouldn't admit it to her. Wouldn't admit to more than just a passing tiredness. But it was more, she could see now. And it scared her.  
  
Arms draped over the sides of the chair, he coughed roughly and leaned back, eyes closed, legs stretched out before him, almost reclining somehow, in a straight-backed wing chair. After a moment, she moved toward him, calling softly to alert him, give him time, if he chose, to show her whatever face he wanted.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
Immediately, he straightened, clearing his throat and pushing to his feet with feigned energy. But she saw the grimace, heard the involuntary grunt. "Hey, Baby," he greeted, the lightness forced. Giving him a quick kiss, she unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders, then poured him a glass of brandy and extended it toward him. He lifted both eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"That's service," he observed archly, taking the liquor. "What happened?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean the kiss, the shirt, the brandy. Is this going to cost me money?"  
  
Despite her deep worry, she laughed. "Always, Big Boy," she returned, using the nickname without thinking, the first thing that sprang from her lips.  
  
Now his brow arched even further. "Big Boy?" he questioned, chest puffing.  
  
She blushed, even though it was just the two of them. At least his weariness lessened a bit with his amusement. And, she had to admit, the term certainly fit. "Remember," she reminded him, chuckling, "pride's a sin."  
  
"Only when you don't have something to be proud of," he declared, brow bouncing once, and leering.  
  
"You are hopeless."  
  
"And you love me."  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"Okay." He nodded in satisfaction and sat, coughing again, and quickly losing the surge of enthusiasm that their conversation had prompted. "I'm sorry I'm so late."  
  
Despite Jed's post-press conference promise of clearing the evening, Korea had apparently not left them the hell alone.  
  
"What happened?" she asked, frowning at the tickle of concern the cough had triggered.  
  
He knew instinctively that she referred to the phone call from the President of North Korea and she liked that they had begun to read each other. "He backed off on IAEA inspections. No restrictions. They'll send a group in next week."  
  
Well, that was good news, wasn't it? "Is that what you wanted?"  
  
A sigh, a swirl of brandy. "Some. Still gives them too much chance to hide anything they don't want us to see. It won't stop them, but maybe it'll delay them, at least - "  
  
He didn't finish, but she could have finished for him. " - at least until I'm out of office and it's somebody else's problem."  
  
And that wasn't like him. Not at all. No, he wanted to solve all the problems of the world himself and leave nothing for the next guy to do. That would be his legacy: Josiah Bartlet did everything. World perfect. End of story. And there was nothing she could do to change his deep-down desire for that really to happen, even though he saw the ridiculousness of it.  
  
The quarter hour chime sang quietly. She had sent him off almost twelve hours ago to answer the call from the North Korean president. "Did it take that long to talk him into it?"  
  
"Hmm?" His eyes stayed on the carpet, unfocused.  
  
She cocked her head toward the clock. "The President of North Korea. Did it take that long to talk him into the inspections?"  
  
Following her gaze, he sighed and answered, "Nah. Just a few minutes. He already knew he had no other choice."  
  
"Then why - "  
  
"Air Traffic Controllers."  
  
"A strike?"  
  
"No. Not yet, anyway. But I don't know - " The weariness with which his words trailed off disturbed her. "And the oil spill. Crews have started - " He stopped and glanced up at her. "Have you ever been to the Gulf Coast?"  
  
Actually, yeah. "Once. With some friends. Destin."  
  
"Beautiful beaches. White sand. Hard to walk on, though. Not as firmly packed as the Atlantic Seaboard - " He trailed off, his expression a little wistful, and curiosity pricked at her, wondering what memory he was re-living. A tired smile curved his lips. It must be a good memory. After a moment, he took a deep breath and shifted, sipping at the drink.  
  
"Damned shame."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Those white sands are going to be black pretty soon. Probably already are."  
  
"Is it a bad spill?"  
  
He laughed without any humor. "Are there any good ones?" It could have been sarcastic, but his smile softened the words.  
  
"No, I suppose not."  
  
"Could be worse," he admitted. "Not a large tanker, and they've managed to contain a lot of it. Still, the wildlife - not to mention economic losses to the area."  
  
She nodded again. There was no real response to that, anyway.  
  
Minutes passed in silence. For a long while he stared ahead without really looking at anything. Finally, Donna leaned forward and ran her index finger around the rim of his glass, creating a hollow ring as the drop of brandy sang on the surface. It drew his attention again, and he looked up, smiling slightly. She caught his gaze once more, trying to convince her suspicious mind that it was merely making up needless problems. But at the expression on his face, she felt her heart drop. She could clearly see the tension in the tightness of his mouth, the extra lines on his forehead, the disturbing flush to his cheeks.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
An eyebrow rose in subtle acknowledgement.  
  
"You okay?" She knew the answer already, already didn't believe it.  
  
His eyes betrayed wariness, as if she had caught him at something he didn't want her to see. Then he masked it with a laugh, a forced, nervous sound that stumbled into another rough cough.  
  
"Oh Baby, how could I not be okay? I'm sitting here looking at the most beautiful woman in the world who's carrying my child, and who kept me up - literally - all night last night. Yeah, I'm definitely okay." A strident hoarseness marred the usual smooth richness of his voice.  
  
The hell you are, you charmer, she thought, noting the few beads of perspiration on his forehead. "Well, I didn't hear any complaints last night," she reminded him, wondering suddenly if they had done too much. But he'd seemed quite eager and willing at the time.  
  
"You won't ever hear any from me," he assured her, his smile fading as he shifted stiffly in his chair.  
  
Now his actions overrode his words and she abandoned the lighter banter to get straight to the point. "You look tired. And that cough doesn't sound so good, either." Understatement. "Back bothering you? Want me to rub it?" Want to admit what's really wrong?  
  
She saw the smile, knew she had thrown him something he could grasp to minimize her concern, and even though she would let him think he had been successful, he had not been.  
  
"Now that would be great," he decided, regarding the offered massage. With a leer, he asked, "How do you want me?"  
  
She played along, tossing back, "I want you so many ways you can't imagine."  
  
"Mmm. Can I try to imagine?" He stood, poorly concealing an involuntary wince at the movement, and walked to her chair, pulling her up with him, turning her so that his hands ran over her stomach, now protruding boldly.  
  
She turned and tapped his chest lightly. "Lie down."  
  
This time, uncharacteristically, he hesitated.  
  
"Lie down so I can rub your back."  
  
"Ah. I was wonderin' if it was just my back you wanted to rub," he allowed, stripping off his pants and tossing them onto the floor.  
  
She shook her head. He was hopeless. "You'll tell me if I 'rub you the wrong way'?"  
  
"Oh, I don't think that's possible," he assured her, his chuckle collapsing into another cough before he lay face down on the bed, arms cradling his head. She watched for a moment as he settled, her eyes roaming over the muscles of his shoulders, still strong despite the illness she tried to forget, still well-defined despite his self-deprecating jokes about their age difference. He was still quite handsome and she enjoyed watching him, especially those moments he was not aware of her gaze.  
  
As her fingers ran over the long muscles on either side of his spine, pushing into him firmly and sliding slowly up to his shoulders, she frowned again at the heat under her palms. He was warm, warmer than usual, and she inched her way up his back to his neck, intent on a casual brush of his face to check her suspicions. After a few soft circular motions, she slipped the back of her hand over his forehead.  
  
"Donna?" The voice held a warning. A warning she planned on completely ignoring.  
  
"Josiah Bartlet," she scolded, fear and irritation mixing in a frustrated combination in her voice. "You have a fever. You knew that, too."  
  
Now he rolled on his side, wiping a thumb across his face. "I told you I'm fine," he insisted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and sitting, a broken cough belying his unconvincing protest.  
  
Right. "Okay, sure. I can see that." She turned, bellowing, just as loudly as she had often accused Josh of doing. "Charlie!"  
  
This brought Jed to his feet. "I told you - " But he had not gotten steadied before he paled and grabbed the bed's foot poster, sinking abruptly back onto the mattress.  
  
"Jed!"  
  
He sat for a moment, breathing shallowly, perspiration now trickling down his face. "I'm okay," he was saying, even though she could tell he was most definitely not okay.  
  
Before she could issue a retort, Charlie flung open the door, the agent on duty following immediately behind. She saw from his face the anxiousness that certainly was mirrored by her own expression. It didn't occur to her until much later to wonder why he was still there so late.  
  
"Mister President?" he questioned, stepping quickly around to the far side of the bed.  
  
"I'm fine," Jed insisted again, gathering enough energy to glare at her before he launched into another sharp fit of coughing.  
  
Charlie's eyes lifted and met hers and she didn't need to say another word. "I'll get Leo," he said, already lifting the phone receiver.  
  
"And Admiral Hackett," Donna added, fielding her husband's fresh frown easily. Oh, please don't let this be happening now, she prayed. Not now when they seemed to have things under control, when they were only a few weeks away from the birth of their baby, the first birth in the White House to a President since the tragic few days of Patrick Bouvier Kennedy in 1963.  
  
"Just lie back, Jed," she suggested, knowing that a command would only be met with resistance. "Lie back until Admiral Hackett gets here, okay? For me?"  
  
That last entreaty seemed to have some effect. Or maybe he was weaker than she had thought, because he nodded and eased back in the bed, letting his head drop onto a pillow. Almost immediately, though, the coughing began again, choking him with its severity, and he sat up quickly. She realized he barely managed to keep from gagging at the reflexive contractions of his throat muscles.  
  
The door burst open again and Leo flew in, coattails flapping as he crossed the room almost at a run. Obviously, he had been on his way out the door when Charlie caught him. Standing in front of Jed, he fought to catch his breath for a few seconds, then addressed his friend directly.  
  
"Mister President? How do you feel?"  
  
Managing to calm the coughs with water Donna had fetched for him from the bathroom, Jed pressed his lips together and raised a sardonic brow. "Well, let's see. I'm sitting in my bedroom in my underwear surrounded by irritatingly nosey people who should be at their own homes now instead of in mine bothering m- "  
  
Before he could continue, the Chief of Staff interrupted, his tone refusing to hide even the least amount of exasperation. "Damn it, Jed! How long have you been sick?"  
  
"Leo, I'm not sick - "  
  
"How long?"  
  
It wasn't often Donna saw this side of her husband's best and oldest friend. This was not the Chief of Staff addressing the President. This was a concerned, frustrated friend fussing at his equally stubborn friend.  
  
"How long?"  
  
Shoulders slumped, Jed finally sighed, coughed hard again, and admitted, "Mid-afternoon, I guess." He shrugged, attempting to lower the anxiety in the room. "It's no big deal, just a cold, that's all."  
  
Mid-afternoon. After the press conference.  
  
Now the guilt fell on her. She had kept him up - literally - most of the night. And it had been wonderfully erotic and fulfilling, but he couldn't have gotten more than two or three hours sleep. Then he had headed out early, staying in the Sit Room over North Korea most of the day, taking time out to sit with her and watch C.J. make the big announcement. Then the call from the North Korean president, apparently followed by more negotiations with air traffic controllers and the unexpected complication of an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. All this meant was yet another grueling twenty-hour day on only a few hours sleep.  
  
Irritation at his disregard for his health joined with fear at the same thing. She did something she had never done before. She yelled at her husband. Well, she had done that before, but not in front of other people. Okay, not yelled, exactly. More like cautiously questioned. There was still some part of her that was the senior assistant to the deputy chief of staff standing in awe of the President of the United States. But she was working on it. Sleeping with him helped, even though it produced another reason for awe at times. Anyway, this was a first. This time, Leo, Charlie, and the secret service agent bore witness to her anger.  
  
"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met!" she snapped, startling Jed along with everyone else in the room. "You have been sick all day - running a fever apparently - and you don't tell anybody? I cannot believe that!"  
  
"Donna, Baby - "  
  
Oh, those eyes! She faltered, but sucked up her anger again, determined to make him see how she felt.  
  
"No! How long do you think you can keep going like this? How could you risk - How could you take a chance on not- " Now she choked back a sob at the thought. "On not being here for our baby - for me?"  
  
The devastation that fell on his face tore at her heart. She saw the revelation in his eyes, the realization that what she suggested could actually happen.  
  
"Oh, Donna. I didn't - I - " Now he turned to Leo. "Can you give us a moment?"  
  
Reluctantly, but with understanding, Leo gathered everyone and left. When they were gone, Jed took her hands in his.  
  
"Donna, you knew going into this what my job meant."  
  
Well, she thought she did, but -  
  
"This is not an unusual day," he continued. "And I don't have the luxury that others have of being sick." When she opened her mouth to debate him, he lifted a hand. "I don't. But - " Now he cradled her face in his hand and she knelt before him, looking up into his eyes. "I would never jeopardize my chance to be with you, Donna. And the baby - "  
  
Swallowing, she nodded and managed to whisper, "Then do whatever Admiral Hackett says, okay?"  
  
He smiled. "Okay. It's just a cold, really. No big deal."  
  
Right. "I'm sure it is. Let's just let him take a look."  
  
Again, he nodded and she rose, with a little more trouble than usual, just as the doctor peeked in.  
  
"Mister President?"  
  
"Yeah," he called, coughing and wiping perspiration from his face. "Come in."  
  
Hackett's eyes caught Donna's, asking for answers he knew he wouldn't get from his patient. She shrugged, because she wasn't sure what to say, how to feel. Silently, she stood at his side as he examined her husband, listening to his heart, taking his temperature, feeling for swollen glands in his neck.  
  
The exam stretched on, picking at her nerves, dragging at her patience. Periodically, Jed would break into an uncontrolled spasm of coughs, and Hackett had to pull away to wait it out. She studied her husband's face, took in the lines of fatigue he had worn for too long, noticed the care the Admiral took in listening to his chest, his back, saw the concentration on the doctor's brow. She almost screamed for someone to tell her something.  
  
Finally, Hackett straightened and proclaimed, "Mister President, I feel like you have a summer cold."  
  
A cold? Just a cold? A cold? Oh, thank God! Thank You!  
  
Jed grinned for the first time all evening. "See? I told you I was fine. A cold - " Sneeze. " - that's all."  
  
Hackett frowned. "Well, actually, sir," he cautioned, "don't let the word 'cold' fool you. This is probably a virus, feels like a mild case of the flu. Chills, fever, coughing, congestion, muscle aches. Treatable, certainly, but nothing to overlook, especially since - "  
  
"Yeah," Jed acknowledged flatly.  
  
All right. Not just a cold. Almost the flu. And she knew the dangers of the flu, remembered the panic caused by his collapse in the Oval Office several years before, had found out much later that Abbey had good cause to cancel her trip.  
  
- a fever can be life-threatening -  
  
"I'd really like to do a chest x-ray, just to make sure it's nothing worse."  
  
Okay, stay calm. Worse? As in - "Doctor?"  
  
He obviously sensed her anxiety. "Let's see how he does for the next twenty-four hours, Mrs. Bartlet. In bed now and through tomorrow, at least, Mister President," the doctor ordered, his face betraying absolutely no fear whatsoever of reprisal from the most powerful man on earth.  
  
Jed frowned. "I'm in the middle of negotiations with North Korea. I've just barely, and possibly only temporarily, averted a strike by arguably the most critical employees in the world. And the Gulf Coast from Biloxi to Mobile is turning black. I don't have ti - "  
  
With plenty of experience with this President, Hackett stood firm in the face of executive resistance. "Then instead of one day in bed, you'll end up in there for a week - or the hospital."  
  
Donna tried to fight back her growing anxiety. "Could this - could it trigger - "  
  
Hackett shrugged. "Any fever is dangerous, but if you follow orders things should be all right." Now he looked directly at his patient and added, "Mister President."  
  
Finally, Jed nodded in resignation and sighed, sneezing loudly and shifting back onto the bed.  
  
Donna saw the satisfaction on the doctor's face and tried to hide a smile. It wasn't every day he triumphed so easily over the President of the United States. "Lots of fluids, sir," he was instructing, glancing at her, too, in case his patient wasn't really listening. "You're already dehydrated. Gatorade is good, along with juices. It will lessen the possibility of cramps. Advil for the fever. It's not bad, just over 100, but we certainly don't want to give it any room to grow. And that cough is pretty nasty. I'll give you something for it, too. We don't want to tempt pneumonia."  
  
Donna started at that possibility. Pneumonia!  
  
"You need to sleep - " He continued, holding up a hand as Jed opened his mouth in protest. " - but I know you won't, so I'll send up a decongestant without antihistamine. Still, sir, take it easy the rest of today and tomorrow. All right? And if there are any other developments, rise in temperature, worsened cough, contact me immediately."  
  
Another sneeze, followed by a cough. Jed nodded again, and answered, voice thick, now, as the congestion built. "All right. I'll be good." He smiled up at his wife. "At least I've got a beautiful nurse for my every need."  
  
Hackett's eyes smiled, too, but warned at the same time. Donna figured he knew her husband pretty well. "For medical purposes, only, Mister President. Understood?"  
  
Pouting, Jed growled, "You're no fun, Doc."  
  
As he gathered up his bag, the stoic doctor handed her a small packet and surprised them all by throwing back, "Wait 'till you get my bill."  
  
She stood for a moment after Hackett left, contemplating how firm she could be and still acquire his cooperation. Finally, after noting the stubborn slant to his jaw, she figured the hell with his cooperation, and decided she'd just run the show for a while.  
  
"All right," she said, coaxing his legs up so she could pull the covers over him. "Sleep now."  
  
"See, I've got to talk with Leo - "  
  
"Uh uh."  
  
"But I'm sure he's still here -"  
  
"Uh uh. No Leo. No Korea. No air traffic controllers."  
  
He opened his mouth, but she added, "And no oil spill. At least not until you've had a good night's sleep."  
  
"But - "  
  
"Nope." This might be the President of the United States, but he was also Donna Bartlet's husband now, and he was sick, and she was damned if he was going to get sicker. Besides, the look of total astonishment on his face at her unbreachable determination was priceless. He fell silent, bewilderment in his eyes, and lay back on the propped pillows.  
  
She nodded in satisfaction and placed the two Advil capsules Hackett had left on his nightstand.  
  
"You have a headache?" Donna asked, watching the lines between his eyebrows furrow.  
  
"Nah."  
  
"Yes, you do. You want an ice pack?"  
  
"Donna, I'm okay."  
  
"I'll get one, anyway," she decided. He would get better, whether he helped or not.  
  
"I wonder if Tony Blair has to deal with this sort of tyranny," she heard him mumble as she moved to the door to ask Charlie for an ice pack.  
  
When she came back, though, the capsules were gone and he lay, eyes closed on the pillows. The even breathing, louder than usual because of the congestion, told her he slept, although his rest was broken too frequently by hard coughs. Fever and a long day and previous night had taken their toll. Curling up beside him, she brushed a hand through his hair, then leaned back, herself, her own fatigue coaxing her into dreams with her husband.  
  
"It's a girl!" Jed called, grinning, and Donna forced her eyes open, trying to see her daughter, trying to focus on the scene before her, her husband holding up the sprawled, naked baby for her to see.  
  
"A girl?" She had trouble comprehending the situation. When had she gone into labor?  
  
"She's beautiful!" he gushed and Donna pushed past the strange feeling that something wasn't right, allowing the elation to flow over her at his joy. He had meant it when he told her, boy or girl, it didn't matter. Just healthy. And this new Bartlet apparently was, bellowing loudly in the delivery room.  
  
Still, an irritating thought marred her total happiness and suddenly she gasped as she watched the smile slide from his lips, heard the hacking cough explode from his lungs, over and over, unstoppable. His knees buckled and he fell, their baby tumbling with him. She tried to reach for them, couldn't move, couldn't breath.  
  
"No!" She tried to scream, but no sound came out. What was happening?  
  
Trembling, Donna sat up in bed, staring into the dark, gulping down a relieved sob when she heard only the familiar tick of the clock and realized she was still in their bed in the residence. Her belly, still huge, pushed out, keeping her from leaning too far forward.  
  
Dear Lord, what a horrible dream. She forced her heart to slow, worked on steadying her breathing.  
  
"Jed?" Patting the bed next to her, she felt only the empty mattress. Then she heard the deep cough, rough and painful, and she knew that her subconscious mind had integrated the real sound into her dream. It came from the bathroom, echoing off the hard surfaces. Shaking off the cruel scene her own brain had conjured, she slid over to his side of the bed and peeped through the bathroom door.  
  
Jed stood, still in his boxers, leaning over the sink, arms braced against the porcelain, muscles tensing as spasms jerked his whole body. As she drew closer, she heard him spit and she grimaced. If he was coughing up mucous, the infection must be worse. The doctor's warnings about pneumonia flew through her mind.  
  
But when she stood over him and her eyes caught his expression, the shock on his face slapped her even harder than she anticipated. Following his stare to the sink, she gasped, her stomach surging upward to her throat. Bright splotches of red, mingling with the frothy saliva, clashed against the smooth white surface.  
  
Red. Red.  
  
Oh God! Oh God!  
  
His gaze rose to meet hers, and the same alarm she saw in his eyes was most assuredly mirrored in hers.  
  
He was coughing up blood. 


	3. Chapter Three

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: The only character I created is Doctor Raniero. The rest are the property of AS. Thanks for letting me use them.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter Three A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Life was funny, in many ways, actually. Funny ha ha sometimes; funny strange, sometimes. And then sometimes it was really not funny at all.  
  
In the few months she had been married to Josiah Bartlet, Donna Moss Bartlet had experienced all three types of funny. Fortunately, most of those had fallen into the first category, enjoyable and exciting and - well - fun. Some had been the second type, especially in those surreal moments when it hit her, as if for the first time, that she was married to the President of the United States, that she was the First lady. That people looked to her as a model, as a standard-bearer. But now - now she had been cold cocked, slapped in the face with the last type. The one that wasn't funny at all. And the gnawing, sickening fear in the pit of her stomach reminded her of the early days of pregnancy, only worse - much worse - because this sickness didn't promise the joyful birth of a child as its climax. This sickness only foretold the dreadful proclamation of a doctor that her husband, the father of her child that had yet to be born, was seriously ill, more serious than either of them could contemplate.  
  
She cut her eyes away from the tall, gray figure of Admiral Hackett for a moment to stare at the cool blue window panes shadowed on the floor by the early morning light. Had it been only a little over 24 hours since she had lain in Jed's arms in this very room, their entwined bodies damp and relaxed from a night of passion and release? How secure she had felt. How quickly the world could change.  
  
She moved her eyes to the bed, to her husband, and tried to assess his feelings. Despite his calm assurances to her, regardless of his steady hand, she felt the fear, the anxiety, shared it with him. Still, he did not move, except when his body involuntarily heaved with the wracking coughs that had only grown worse, but remained silent, almost eerily submissive, as the doctor re-examined him. More stethoscope listening to chest and back, more careful study of throat and ears. He had Jed cough, which didn't take much effort, and spit into a cloth. Again, the bloody expulsion set her heart pumping.  
  
Finally, Hackett sighed, pulled the stethoscope from his ears and frowned. He didn't speak for a long moment, so long that Donna found herself unable to hold her question.  
  
"Doctor?" Try to keep the fear down, try not to let Jed hear it in your voice.  
  
"I don't know," he admitted. "We'll need to run some tests - "  
  
Now Jed broke his silence, interrupting with a soft, but firm voice. "Give me the possibilities, Admiral. All of them."  
  
Hackett nodded, acknowledging his patient's desire and right to know the truth. "Mister President, there are several causes of hemoptysis. You'll notice that it looks a little frothy. That's from the mixture with air and sputum, or secretions from the airway. I, of course, can't confirm - or dispel - any causes with as superficial an exam as I can give you here. I'll schedule a battery of tests at Bethesda. We can set them up for tomorrow to give you a little time to recover - "  
  
But Jed wouldn't be dissuaded so easily. Donna could have told the doctor that. "Fine, but I want to know now what the possible causes are."  
  
The Admiral regarded his patient, and his commander-in-chief, for a moment, a look of both admiration and regret passing across his face. "All right, sir. Best case scenario? Sometimes recent nosebleeds can result in the blood coming back in this form - " He stopped at the head shake from the President.  
  
"No," Jed assured him.  
  
"No, I didn't think so. Another cause could be irritation of the throat from violent coughing. You certainly have been coughing hard, sir, and that's not out of the realm of possibility."  
  
Jed held his gaze. "But you don't think that's it." A statement. He knew.  
  
"No," replied Hackett simply.  
  
"Other possibilities?"  
  
"A pulmonary infection of some kind. Bronchitis or pneumonia."  
  
"Worst case scenario?" Jed demanded quietly and Donna braced for the words she could already hear.  
  
Hackett hesitated, then said, "Lung cancer."  
  
Jed's jaw tightened at the confirmation of their worst fears. "I quit smoking," he mumbled. And that was true. As soon as she had told him she was pregnant. Cold turkey. And she had yet to figure out how, except through sheer will power.  
  
The doctor sighed. "Yes, sir, but I'm sure you know the long-term effects -"  
  
"Yeah." He looked up at the Admiral. "Yeah." With a deep breath that ended, expectedly, in another cough, he asked, "What's next?"  
  
"I'll arrange the tests. In the meantime, I want you to continue a steady intake of fluids for a sputum culture."  
  
"What - what tests will you do, Doctor?" Donna had finally managed to find her voice.  
  
He turned to her and allowed a sympathetic smile. "In addition to the culture, the pulmonary specialist will probably order a chest x-ray, and possibly a bronchoscopy."  
  
"Bronchoscopy?" Jed asked.  
  
Eyes back on the President, Hackett explained, "A bronchoscopy is a diagnostic procedure in which a tube with a tiny camera on the end is inserted through the mouth into the lungs. It allows us to see into the airways and collect specimens for biopsy, if necessary. Assuming, Mister President, that this will be done, I'll need you not to eat or drink after midnight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Okay? So calm. So damned calm. Donna wanted to yell, to scream, to shake him. Did he hear what the doctor just said? Did he hear? But she clamped down on the panic. It wouldn't do her any good and it sure wouldn't help Jed. No, she'd be as calm as he was. They would meet this head on, together. They would - She gulped, swallowing a sob. They would beat this. They would!  
  
Now Hackett was leaving, she realized, and mustered some appropriate words of thanks before returning to her husband's bedside. She read pain in his eyes, and thought for a moment, it was for himself. But as his hand slid over the curve of her belly, she realized it wasn't for him at all; it was for her - it was for the baby. And that broke her strength, plowed through any ability she had to put up a strong front. The tears fell, now, streaming down her cheeks, dropping onto his hand. He looked up and reached toward her, pulling her down, gathering her close.  
  
"Shh," he whispered at her ear. "It's going to be - " He stopped, because he couldn't promise her that. Couldn't assure her it would be okay. "We'll do what we need to do," he amended.  
  
She could only nod, didn't trust herself to saying anything, yet, to offer her own reassurance to him. But she would. She knew when she gathered her wits again, that she wouldn't fall apart anymore. It just wouldn't happen. She was the First Lady of the United States, after all.  
  
Finally, she sat back, wiping tears and lifting her hand to touch his face, memorizing the strong angles and planes. "I'll see if Leo's in yet," she said softly.  
  
Eyes widening in surprise, he questioned, "Leo?"  
  
"You'll want to see him." Not telling him, just verifying what he already had planned.  
  
His lips curved in a smile at her observation and he nodded.  
  
C.J. stepped to the podium. Curled up next to Jed on the sofa in the residence, Donna watched as the press secretary took a deep breath in preparation for the blitz of questions. "Okay, guys. I'm pleased to announce that air traffic controllers remain on the job today. The President thanks them for their cooperation in negotiations and is certainly glad that he has not had to invoke the 'Reagan Solution' to keep our skies safe. On another issue, clean up efforts continue on the oil spill off the coast of Mississippi. Coastal areas affected include the shoreline between Hattisburg and Gulf Shores, Alabama. It is anticipated that several million dollars worth of fishing and shrimping will be lost, in addition to the cost of clean up and loss of tourism."  
  
She paused, anticipating questions, but none came. Not good. That meant they had already sniffed out the bigger story.  
  
"All right. One note. There is a last minute change in today's schedule. The President will not be speaking at the Police Memorial originally set for two p.m. in Philadelphia."  
  
"C.J.!" That was it.  
  
"Sandy?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Why did the President cancel the ceremony?"  
  
C.J. smiled smoothly. "Actually, the ceremony will continue as scheduled. The President just won't be there."  
  
Donna grasped Jed's hand a little harder. He had been very clear to C.J. that she should not evade any direct questions about his health.  
  
"The President is taking a day off to catch up from a grueling week of some pretty serious events."  
  
Another hand. "Is the President sick?"  
  
Calm, cool, C.J. answered, "Well, Gary, it depends on how you define sick. He's a little under the weather with what most of us call a summer cold, no cause for alarm. The First Lady is making him take a break. Also, he wants to make sure he's ready for the anticipated talks with North Korea, which, by the way, are shaping up nicely."  
  
They were not deterred by the international carrot she dangled. "Do the President's doctors suspect any complications from the cold on his M.S.?"  
  
Next to her Jed pulled his robe tighter and coughed. She cut her eyes again to glance at him, but he only smiled reassuringly. At least he wasn't coughing quite as much since Admiral Hackett had sent the medicine.  
  
"No, Steve. This has nothing to do with the M.S., from which, I might add, the President has suffered no problems at all in almost two years. A day's rest should take care of it." She glanced down for a moment, then back up, adding casually, "He will be going for a check up tomorrow at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I want to add also that he has received excellent reports for the past three years and expects to continue in the same manner this time."  
  
"Are there specific concerns?"  
  
"Only the summer cold, as I mentioned. Just precautionary." Ignoring any other eager hands, she flipped her notebook and declared, "That's a full lid, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks." And was out the door before another question could be completed.  
  
As First Lady, Donna had grown more appreciative of C.J.'s talents, observing, as she had not been able to before, the wit, savvy, and style of the press secretary, as well as C.J.'s ability to be straight forward with the press while still keeping delicate information safe. Of course, they had not told her everything, only that Jed was having tests run to determine the cause of his present illness. What she deducted from that, she had kept to herself.  
  
She turned to Jed to comment on C.J.'s performance just as Charlie knocked and entered with a small bucket of ice in which several bottles of Gatorade had been shoved. Not exactly champagne, but literally what they doctor had ordered. Donna rose to meet him.  
  
"Mister President," he greeted.  
  
Jed jerked his chin up a bit in acknowledgement of the delivery. "Thanks, Charlie. You didn't have to do that."  
  
"No problem, sir," he assured them. "I didn't know which flavor you liked, so I brought several. Green, blue, pink, white, even clear."  
  
"Those are colors, Charlie, not flavors."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Anyway, I thought Gatorade was just green."  
  
The younger man chuckled. "Not anymore, Mister President."  
  
"What's the blue?"  
  
"Frost."  
  
"Frost is a flavor?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Okay. What's the white?"  
  
"Frost."  
  
"Well, that doesn't make any sense. How can blue be Frost and white - nevermind. Just throw me somethin'."  
  
Charlie selected plain old green and tossed it across the room. Despite his condition, the President plucked it easily from the air with one hand. Donna wondered where he had learned to do that. She realized she didn't know much about his earlier life. Had he played a sport of some kind? Baseball? Football? With its gridiron history, football was probably a required class at Notre Dame.  
  
"Hey, Charlie?" he was saying.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"You take my advice on the board for Saturday?"  
  
Board? What board?  
  
"Pitt's got a good team this year, Mister President."  
  
Ah! The football board. She should have known. And, of course, she knew immediately what team that "advice" concerned.  
  
"Pitt!" Jed sputtered, sending a spray of green onto his robe. "Are you crazy? They have a terrible turnover ratio and they can't score in the red zone - Pitt? You'll lose your shirt."  
  
Charlie smiled in a way that told Donna he was playing his boss well. Jed knew it, too, but enjoyed the play anyway. "So you're saying I shouldn't take the over and under?"  
  
"I'm sayin' you shouldn't take the game, man. The Irish are loaded for bear - or panther, anyway. Save your money."  
  
"Yes, sir. It's a good thing I went with Notre Dame, then?"  
  
Jed smiled. "Atta boy. I knew I taught you better. Go away, now, and let me savor my green-flavored Gatorade. Oh, and send C.J. in here when she's finished."  
  
"Yes, sir." Again Charlie smiled, but something in his eyes remained sad, and Donna ached at the simple show of concern and love from Jed's personal aid.  
  
"Have a good afternoon, Mister President," he offered on the way out, nodding to her as she smiled her appreciation for taking his mind off things even for a little while.  
  
"Yeah," Jed returned absently, his gaze tracing back to hers, his eyes reading her own sadness.  
  
"Hey," he called softly to her. "Come here."  
  
Oh, Jed. Do I dare? But she did, crawled into his lap as he indicated, lay back in his arms, allowing him to stroke her stomach, smiling with him as he placed her hand in his and felt the kick of their child.  
  
"She's already bossy," he noted. Donna grinned. He had referred to the baby exclusively as 'she," not straying once from that gender. She wasn't sure why, except that maybe he didn't want to get his hopes up, despite the assurances he gave her that it didn't matter to him. Then again, maybe it really didn't matter. Or maybe he just thought of the baby as 'she' since all his other children had been. Whatever the reason, he had been unfailingly consistent and Donna didn't dispute him now.  
  
"She knows her Daddy's touch," Donna decided, drawing a deeper grin from him before it faded into melancholy. "Jed - "  
  
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing matters today. Tomorrow - well, we'll deal with tomorrow - tomorrow. But today is ours. No problems today. Okay?"  
  
Unable to speak, she nodded and leaned against his chest. The quick repartee with Charlie seemed to have perked him up a bit. She felt his forehead now without even trying to mask it in any other move. Still warm. He hadn't had any Advil since the first two. Admiral Hackett advised against it in anticipation of the bronchoscopy, to avoid bleeding during the procedure. Despite the danger of catching his illness, she couldn't stop herself from turning in his arms and placing a soft kiss against his lips. He responded, letting his mouth move on hers before he pulled away to her grunt of protest.  
  
"Donna, you shouldn't - "  
  
"It's all right," she said. "If I haven't caught anything from you by now, I never will."  
  
He chuckled. "Still, let's not tempt fate."  
  
She sighed in disappointment, thinking they had already tempted fate about as much as they could, but didn't try to continue the kiss, snuggling instead back against his chest. They were still in that position when C.J. entered, hesitating when she saw them entwined.  
  
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry - "  
  
"It's okay," Jed called, sitting up a little. Donna eased away, but remained within his embrace. "Come on in, C.J."  
  
"How do you feel, Mister President?" she asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the chair across from the couch.  
  
"Better, thanks." At least Donna thought that was true. "You did a good job in there today."  
  
As usual when the President complimented her, C.J. blushed a bit. "Thank you, sir. I hope things go well tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah. About that - "  
  
Donna watched the fear rise in the press secretary's face. She could almost hear the expletive that went through the other woman's mind. "Sir?"  
  
"I want to be totally honest with you, C.J.," he said, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs. Donna knew he could feel the anxiety tighten. "I'll probably be having a couple of tests run. One will be a chest x- ray."  
  
"Do they - do they suspect pneumonia, sir?"  
  
"Well, not really, but they'll do it anyway."  
  
"And the other test?"  
  
"A bronchoscopy."  
  
C.J took a breath. "That's for - that's to check the lungs, isn't it, Mister President?"  
  
"Yeah." He paused just briefly, then continued. "Mainly for biopsies." He said it flat out. She couldn't misinterpret and she didn't.  
  
After a long moment, C.J. nodded and rose. "Thank you, Mister President," she said, jaw tight.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Donna followed her to the door, accepting the pain as well as the support in her friend's eyes with a tight smile. Returning to the couch, she leaned back against him in their favorite position since she had become pregnant, and they sat that way for another half hour, staring at nothing, thinking about everything. She finally felt him shift under her and his hands ran over her stomach again.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"I know you don't want to talk about it - "  
  
Oh no! Please not now. What was it he had said about today being ours? About no problems today? Not fair. He was breaking his own rule. "Jed - "  
  
"No. Listen. I need to say this. If anything - happens - if it turns out that - that this is something - "  
  
She wanted to scream, to close her ears, to hit him for saying such things. But she couldn't, because she knew he was right. It was something she had to face, to think about. So she fought the tears back and listened.  
  
"I've spoken to Leo. He'll - he'll make arrangements. He'll take care of you - and the baby - And, of course, my girls will - well, I know they'll want to be part of her life, if you want them - "  
  
Now she couldn't avoid the tears, couldn't stop them from flowing down her cheeks, despite her resolution not to lose control again. She turned to the side, shifted to touch his face. He broke off, catching his breath at the pure agony on her face. Swinging his legs down, he sat, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest.  
  
"Oh, Baby," he whispered, and Donna was struck again at how natural the endearment came to him. "I love you. That's why - that's why I talked with Leo. You know that, right?"  
  
Steeling herself to face what he had brought up, she raised her head, looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and said, "Josiah Bartlet, I love you more than anything else in this world. But I swear to God if you leave me right now - well, as soon as I get to heaven, I will find you, and I will make your life miserable. And that's for eternity, remember."  
  
For a moment, he just stared, nonplussed at her response. Then a low chuckle built in his chest, erupting into a simultaneous laugh and cough. "All right," he managed, "I'll consider myself warned. And you could do it, too, Donnatella Moss Bartlet."  
  
"I would," she assured him.  
  
His smile faded then, and he added, "Still, you know that Leo will - "  
  
"Yeah," she acknowledged, to keep him from repeating. "I know, Jed. I know."  
  
"Okay." Drawing her back against him, he rocked gently, and she felt his lips against her hair. "Okay."  
  
Donna scanned the office of Doctor Alera Raniero, her gaze taking in the assortment of degrees on the wall, the volumes of medical texts on the shelves, and the collection of awards and honors displayed on the desktop. It was comforting, at least, to know the physician was qualified and apparently at the top of her field, but then she really wouldn't have expected any less from someone who was about to diagnose the President of the United States. Jed sat next to her, dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt that he had just pulled back on after the series of chest x- rays. She studied him carefully, comparing how he looked today with his appearance the previous 24 hours. He looked better, ironically, despite the possible identification of a new disease to attack his body. Still running a low-grade fever, but rested some, at least.  
  
Sensing her gaze, he turned, smiling at her blatant scrutiny. "How you doin'?" he asked.  
  
"That's my line," she told him, returning the smile.  
  
But before he could answer her, the door opened and the slender figure of the pulmonary specialist walked in. Jed stood and shook her hand. Donna just nodded, too numb and too scared to converse.  
  
"Doctor Raniero," he greeted easily.  
  
The doctor was young, Donna thought, too young to be a specialist on anything. She wanted somebody old, not too old, but old enough to look as if they had seen some things before. Raniero's dark hair hung behind her, tied in loose pony tail; her skin, a creamy bronze, spoke of her Latin heritage, but her voice held no accent, except possibly that flat drawl of West Texas. She launched right into their concerns.  
  
"Well, Mister President, the x-rays show some evidence of cloudiness or congestion." She perched on the edge of her desk, her posture indicating only a minor nervousness at addressing the most powerful man in the world. Donna could not have cared less how she felt, though. All she needed to know was what was wrong with her husband and what they were going to do about it.  
  
Cloudiness? Congestion? God, that didn't sound good.  
  
"Which indicates - " Jed asked, the tightening of his fingers around hers the only indication of his anticipation.  
  
"Which indicates the need for a bronchoscopy, sir, which I would recommend in any case with hemoptysis. Since Doctor Hackett had already advised you to prepare for this procedure, we can do it today. I have arranged for the set up." She turned to Donna and smiled slightly. "Mrs. Bartlet, you may be with him for most of the time, if you wish, and we have an observation room for the actual procedure."  
  
She nodded and rubbed Jed's hand.  
  
Shifting to a facing chair, the petite physician relaxed a bit as she fell into what she knew best. "Let me just go over the procedures with you so you'll know what to expect. First, we'll start an IV to relax you. Then we'll spray a topical anesthetic in your mouth and throat. Now this may cause coughing, but once the anesthetic begins to work, it will stop. You should feel a thickness and that means it is sufficiently numb."  
  
Jed held up a hand to stop her. "How - out of it - will I be?" He smiled. "You understand my need to know?"  
  
"Yes, sir. You should be awake for the entire procedure, Mister President although you will be a little groggy."  
  
He nodded, considering. "Okay."  
  
"The next step is to use the bronchoscope, which is a flexible tube. It will be inserted in the trachea. This might feel uncomfortable like you're suffocating, but there is no risk at all of suffocation."  
  
"Great," Jed mumbled, and Donna squeezed his hand in sympathy.  
  
"Then we'll probably do a lavage, or bronchial washing to collect cells for analysis. Depending on what we find, we might check tissue samples, as well. That's it. After the anesthetic wears off your throat may be scratchy for several days, and if we actually do a biopsy, you may experience some bleeding from the site."  
  
They sat quietly for a long moment. Finally, Jed took a deep breath and stood. "Thank you, Doctor. I want you to keep me as alert as possible during this, all right?"  
  
"It could be very uncomfortable, Mister President," she warned.  
  
"I understand."  
  
The dark eyes surveyed him for a moment, then crinkled a little at the edges. Donna saw the admiration there. "Yes, sir. I'll have someone take you back to the prep room and we'll get this done as quickly as we can." As she left, she gave them a reassuring nod.  
  
Donna sat for a moment, scanning back over the array of credentials in the room. "Jed?"  
  
He turned to her, smiling. "It'll be okay. No danger, right?"  
  
"You want me there?" She wasn't sure if she wanted him to say yes or no.  
  
"You want to be there?"  
  
Then she knew. "Yes."  
  
His hand touched her hair, smoothed down the back of it. "Okay," he agreed, and was in the middle of kissing her when Ron Butterfield entered with their escort. She smiled against his mouth as he ignored the interruption in order to complete the kiss. The look on Ron's face betrayed no surprise at all. And she knew from personal experience, that the agent had waited out more than his share of intimate moments. He was used to it.  
  
"And he's doing okay?" Zoey Bartlet's voice betrayed raw worry even over the crackling connection of the cell phone. She had almost insisted that she needed to come there, to cut short her visit with Liz and Annie. In fact, Donna and Jed had been forced to convince all of his daughters that there was no need to come. The procedure was safe. The results - well - there would be plenty of time to deal with the results, plenty of time for them to come - if it became necessary.  
  
"He's just gone in," she reported to Zoey.  
  
"Leo's with you?"  
  
Donna smiled. "Yeah. He's right here. I'll call you as soon as it's over. I promise. Okay?"  
  
A hesitation. She still wanted to be there. "Okay. Tell him - tell him I love him."  
  
"He knows, Zoey. But I'll tell him."  
  
The line remained open another beat, then Donna heard the click and slipped the phone back into Leo's palm. She didn't have time to consider the conversation before things got underway.  
  
"Mister President?" A scrubs-clad nurse leaned over him.  
  
"Mmm?" Jed Bartlet lay on the table, sheet to his waist, chest bare, IV running into his left arm, pumping the medications that would attempt to loosen his natural resistance to the procedure.  
  
"Mister President, how do you feel?"  
  
Deep breath. "Okay."  
  
"Relaxed?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
But not relaxed enough, Donna could tell, peering through the window that separated the observation room from the examining room, out of the action, but able to watch, able to hear. Leo cleared his throat.  
  
"How ya doin'?" he asked her, taking her hand in his.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Really?" His eyes offered comfort, strength.  
  
She smiled. "No." And they watched for a moment before she continued. "Jed told me about your talk."  
  
Leo shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, that was just, you know, precautionary."  
  
"Thank you, Leo. It made him feel better to know that - well, to know."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She heard a discreet cough behind them and looked back at Ron Butterfield, surprise to see a rare softness as he returned her stare. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by the usual stone façade, but it had been there, and she was reminded that she wasn't the only person who loved Jed Bartlet.  
  
Their attention moved back into the room as Doctor Raniero entered and stepped toward Jed.  
  
Leaning in, she told him, "Mister President, we're going to spray the anesthesia now, all right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You're doing fine," she encouraged, and Donna figured it was more for the benefit of the First Lady than the President. She was right.  
  
As the medicine coated his throat, Jed gagged and coughed. Donna instinctively moved toward him, but caught herself. Leo grasped her hand more tightly.  
  
"This will only last a little while," Raniero assured him as an assistant held his shoulders steady. Before too long, he relaxed, easing his head back again.  
  
"All right, sir?" the doctor asked.  
  
"Mmm hmm," Jed answered.  
  
Donna raised a hand to her neck in empathy as Raniero positioned Jed's head and slowly inserted the tube down his throat. She saw the tendons in his neck stand out, watched the veins pump as he fought not to rebel against the foreign object forcing its way into him. Leo squeezed her fingers hard and she looked around to see the pain on his face, pain at having to watch his best friend go through this, pain at knowing what it might mean. Ron had straightened even further, if that was possible, and stared intently through the window, looking as if he would fly through it with any evidence that the President was in undue distress.  
  
"You're doing great, sir," Raniero offered. "We're almost there."  
  
Donna's attention returned to focus on her husband and she grimaced at the beads of perspiration on his brow, at the way his hands had become fists, gripping the sheet to keep from tearing at the invading instrument. She wished now he had forgotten about trying to remain alert. Let Hoynes take over for a couple of hours. But he couldn't, she knew that. Of course, if North Korea decided to attack them all right now with every nuclear device they had been covertly developing, there was not a whole hell of a lot he could do about it anyway.  
  
His groan drew her back to his face and she saw his eyes close tightly.  
  
"I need you to relax for me, sir," Raniero asked. "I could put you under a little more if you want."  
  
His negative muffled response was quite clear.  
  
"All right. We're doing the lavage now, Mister President. Depends on - " She stopped, then spoke again, obviously to the doctor next to her. "Hold it right there, Kurt. No, there. Yeah. Got that? Good, good."  
  
Standing, Donna stretched to see what she meant, but of course there was nothing for her to see. Leo put his arm around her this time. She wanted so much to dash in there, to hold his hand, let him hang onto warm flesh instead of sterile, cold linens. Surely they were almost done.  
  
Finally, Raniero stood back. "Okay, sir. That's it. We're ready to remove the tube, now." Her hands grasped the flexible scope. "Just relax. Here we go -- "  
  
Donna watched as Jed's chest rose in a deep breath. Then, the tube came up smoothly and suddenly he was free, gagging just as the end left him. Tears touched her eyes at his grimace, but she breathed easier, and from the echoing sighs behind her, she knew she wasn't alone. It was over. Thank goodness.  
  
Gasping with his ability to breath normally again, Jed probably didn't even notice Raniero lean over him, beaming, and declare, "You did great, Mister President. I've never done that with someone under such a light dose of anesthesia."  
  
But Donna saw and heard, and she smiled at the surge of pride those words brought.  
  
Raniero patted him on the shoulder. "We want to watch you for just a little while as it wears off and then we'll take you back to your room to wait."  
  
And that's what they had to do now. They had to wait. And that was the hardest thing of all. Remembering a promise, she reached for Leo's cell phone.  
  
"You okay? Want some more water?" Donna reached over to lift the cup to his lips, but he shook his head.  
  
"No," he whispered roughly.  
  
Frowning, she pulled back. "How does your throat feel?"  
  
He blinked a few times, still fighting the fading grogginess. "Hurts - a little." He coughed, and winced at the pain.  
  
"Ice cream?" she offered. "I know when I had my tonsils out - "  
  
"No," he interrupted, and tried to smile when he saw the hurt on her face. "Hurts to swallow," he explained.  
  
"Okay."  
  
At the knock on the door to the private suite, Ron moved to open it. She had almost forgotten he was there, he had stood so still. A slim, buxom, auburn-haired nurse breezed in, her smile bright, her voice cheery, her eyes only for her VIP patient. "Mister President, how are you doing?"  
  
Squinting, Donna noticed that Jed had little trouble finding his voice for her. "Fine, thank you."  
  
She made a great show of fluffing his pillow and checking his IV that still fed fluids to keep from him dehydrating. "I must say, sir, that we were all quite impressed by your control during the procedure. You really had very little anesthesia and I know it must have been quite uncomfortable and probably painful."  
  
Even though she felt the same way, Donna had difficulty keeping her eyes from rolling at the nurse's blatant flirting. Jed, however, didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.  
  
"Nah," he protested casually. "It was really no big deal."  
  
"No, really," she insisted, smoothing the hospital gown across his shoulders under the pretense of straightening the IV tube. "You were very brave."  
  
This observation actually drew some color back into her husband's face. "Well - " he muttered, and Donna could tell he wasn't sure how to answer.  
  
"Can I get you anything, Mister President?" she asked, and the stark invitation in her voice was too much. Donna couldn't suppress the harsh, almost involuntary cough. The nurse didn't seem too perceptive, though. "Oh, Mrs. Bartlet, I certainly hope you are not coming down with the President's cold. Especially not in your condition."  
  
Scowling, Donna almost noted aloud that she hardly needed to be reminded of her condition, but Jed had finally caught on and cleared his throat, shifting in the bed to draw their attention.  
  
"Ah, I'm sure my wife is fine, Nurse - ah - Nurse - "  
  
"Phillips," she supplied sweetly, turning immediately back to him. "Amber Phillips."  
  
"Yes, Miss Phillips," Jed continued, cutting his eyes toward Donna. "And I'm fine, too, for now. Thank you for checking on me. I think I'll just rest a little while."  
  
At least she could take a hint. With a final smile just for her President, she slipped from the room, and Donna was almost certain she caught a whiff of molasses following her out.  
  
As her eyes returned to the bed, she contemplated whether to make him pay, but his helpless shrug and boyish grin dispelled any irritation. God, he was cute. How could she be mad at the nurse for flirting? Well, she could, but -  
  
At the low chuckle behind her, she spun around in surprise. Hmm. Ron Butterfield's face remained as stoic as ever - but his eyes seemed to twinkle just a little brighter.  
  
Their lightened mood was broken, however, by another knock. This time, Leo stepped into the room, face expectant. "Hey."  
  
"Hey," Donna answered.  
  
"Any word?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
Jed lifted his chin slightly. "What's goin' on?"  
  
"Nothing," Leo tried, motioning casually with a hand, but Jed shook his head.  
  
"Leo - " He warned, daring to insert a bit of volume into his order and wincing at the result.  
  
The Chief of Staff sighed. "I don't think the agreement with the air traffic controllers is going to hold. Word is they'll walk by morning without at least a review of the requests by the FAA."  
  
"Damn." He leaned back on the pillows, a weak cough drawing another grimace to his face. "Okay, get Josh out there. Tell them - tell them we'll get the FAA to look - to look, mind you, but if they walk out tomorrow - " He swallowed, and Donna winced with him. " - if they walk out tomorrow, they'll have to keep walking."  
  
"Do you think we are safe in bluffing that way - " Leo pressed.  
  
"It's not a bluff, Leo," Jed said levelly, drawing startled looks from everyone. "It can't happen. It's illegal; it's putting human beings in jeopardy. It can't happen."  
  
"They have legitimate concerns."  
  
She watched as Jed's hand came up to rub at his throat. "Yeah. That's why we'll review the requests. That's why we haven't canned their asses before." He coughed hard and couldn't suppress the cry of pain. "Damn it."  
  
Without hesitation, Donna moved to him and pressed the handkerchief to his lips, catching the bloody mucous that he had coughed up.  
  
Leo fell silent, alarm in his eyes. Then, he nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll arrange it, Mister President."  
  
"Yeah." A whisper again. He couldn't spare more.  
  
Ron moved back into the room. Donna had not noticed him leaving. Motioning for Leo, he whispered to him, then stepped back against the wall.  
  
"Listen, the doctor's on her way," Leo said and looked as anxious as the rest of them. "Want me to - "  
  
"No, stay," Jed managed, pulling himself a little straighter. "Stay."  
  
The Chief of Staff nodded.  
  
Okay. The doctor was on her way. Donna clenched her teeth, unable to fight down the sudden adrenalin that surged through her, torn between the fierce desire to know and the wish to stay right where they were. If they didn't know, it wouldn't be bad, right? Live in ignorance and just keep on like they had been. It made a strangely logical argument in her brain. But it was coming. She didn't have a choice. None of them had a choice.  
  
They waited in silence until the clicking of footsteps in the hall grew closer. Donna drew in a breath, found her hands shaking and tried to clasp them together to stop. She stood and reached for Jed's hand, grasping it firmly, felt his palms just as sweaty as hers, tried to show him strength, hoped that she was more successful than she felt. Then, the door swung open and Doctor Raniero entered. Looking more like a co-ed than a skilled pulmonary specialist, she ignored Leo and Ron, moving directly to the bedside.  
  
"Mister President," she began without preamble, "I have some results for you." 


	4. Chapter Four

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Although I wish Donna and Jed were mine (especially Jed), they are not.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter Four A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Results. Results. I have some results for you, Mister President -  
  
Here it was. Right in front of them, and as soon as someone acknowledged the lead in, as soon as someone responded to her, Dr. Raniero would say them - the words that would chart his course - their course. And Donna wanted to do it, wanted to speak, but she couldn't give up that one moment of innocence in which she could still pretend things were all right, nothing was wrong, their lives weren't about to be shoved through an emotional meat grinder and mutilated.  
  
The best she could manage was a swallow, feeling the lump in her throat protest, trying her best not to throw up, not to turn around and run the other way away from the terrible pronouncement.  
  
Breathe. Breathe.  
  
She forced herself to look at Jed, even if she couldn't handle what she might see: fear, sorrow, devastation. But his expression remained neutral, blank, except for a slight furrow between his eyebrows.  
  
"Okay," he finally prompted calmly, but she heard the tightness in his tone.  
  
The doctor's slender body shifted slightly as she flipped the chart in her hands and considered it. Leo took an involuntary step forward, as if he needed to move, to prompt some response, to speed her along.  
  
What? What? For God's sake, what it is?  
  
Finally, she looked up and pursed her lips. "Actually, I have good news and bad news."  
  
Oh God. Good news and bad news. She wanted only good news, but gritted her teeth, steeled herself.  
  
"The bronchoscopy showed normal cells in the trachea with no foreign bodies or obstructions. That's the good news."  
  
Okay. Normal cells. That did sound good, but what else? There was bad news. What?  
  
"And the bad news?" That was Jed. Still calm, sounding just as he had when he asked Hackett for the worst-case scenario.  
  
After only a brief pause, which nevertheless seemed like hours to Donna, the doctor answered. "The bad news is that there is severe inflammation of the bronchi, so severe that it has caused the hemoptysis."  
  
Jed's head cocked to the side a bit. "Inflammation of the bronchi that - that means - "  
  
"That means, Mister President," she declared, a strange curve touching her lips, almost like a smile, "that you have Acute Bronchitis."  
  
Donna tried to read the olive face, tried to figure out exactly what she was saying. What? What? Say it again, please. But she somehow couldn't make her vocal chords work properly. Fortunately, her husband still maintained control of his verbal abilities.  
  
"All right," he acknowledged, his voice still guarded. "What are we talking about?"  
  
Right. What he said.  
  
Raneiro closed the chart and finally looked directly at him. "That means that the viral infection identified by Doctor Hackett produced bronchial inflammation, which set the stage for bronchitis and secondary bacterial infection." Now the smile fell into a frown and she dared to lift a pointed brow at her commander-in-chief. "From going unattended, sir. You were too exhausted, too worn down, to fight it off, and it escalated rapidly."  
  
"So the biopsy - "  
  
"Well, we won't have the results for a little while on that, but when we got the tube down there it became obvious what had caused the bleeding. And analysis of the cells obtained in the lavage corroborate our initial observations. I feel very confident about the diagnosis."  
  
But Donna was still trying to grasp the implications, not because she didn't understand, but because she just couldn't believe it. Does that mean - Does that mean he doesn't have -  
  
Finally, she spluttered out, "Bronchitis? Bronchitis. Not - "  
  
"Acute Bronchitis," Raniero confirmed, repeating the diagnosis. "We'll step up the antibiotics. I would say smoking should be avoided, but Doctor Hackett told me you have stopped. However, years of smoking, even as light a smoker as you have generally been, have made the lung tissue fragile, sensitive. I think that probably contributed to the hemoptysis. The good news of that is that there is visible reclamation by your body of the damaged tissue. If you don't smoke again, it should continue to regenerate in healthier tissue. That's not to say you're totally free of any risks, but - well, it's certainly a good sign."  
  
Bronchitis. Not cancer? Not cancer? NOT CANCER! Her brain grabbed onto the revelation, caressed it, cradled it, shouted it. Thank God. And she did, literally.  
  
Eyes closed, Leo had no qualms about voicing his similar opinion. "Thank God." She glanced at him and watched in amazement as the burden that pushed on his shoulders visibly lifted, pulling them straighter, smoothing his face, touching his cheeks with color.  
  
Raniero was continuing. "You'll need to stay overnight, at least, Mister President, possibly longer. We'll set up a humidifier and continue fluid intake. And even though your cough might be painful, productive coughing is good for bringing up mucous, so we probably won't try to suppress it. Of course, if it threatens irritation of the trachea, we will give you something."  
  
Donna's eyes finally shifted back to her husband, and, although his expression had not significantly changed, she could read the relief in every line of his body. A crisp nod acknowledged the doctor's assessment.  
  
"If you follow instructions, Mister President," Raniero ordered boldly with the security of expertise, "you should be back on the job within the week. It will probably be at least a month to six weeks, however, before you're considered clear."  
  
If Jed felt any resentment at the curt words, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he had finally allowed a smile to tug at his lips, finally turned to Donna and let his eyes reveal unshed tears that stood poised to wash away the anticipated pain.  
  
Almost in a dream, she repeated the diagnosis to her doubtful perception. Bronchitis. Bronchitis. Not -  
  
He was okay. Well, not totally, but he would be okay. He would be okay.  
  
As the relief swept through her, Donna's knees weakened, wavering, a hot flush raced across her face and the room swayed dizzily. Just as the dark tunnel began to close in, she saw Jed, alarm on his face. He was off the bed, despite still fighting the lingering effects of the procedure, reaching out a steadying arm, even as Ron reached to steady him. Leo joined the collapsing group, trying to grab both the President and First Lady at the same time. All four ended up sitting on the hospital room floor.  
  
"Donna?" The voice came from far away, but it was a familiar voice, a comforting voice, a loving voice. "Donna, Baby?"  
  
I'm okay, she thought she said, but when she opened her eyes, no one's face registered any acknowledgement. The face closest to hers was her husband's. As her brain expanded the view, she noted that Jed sat back on his haunches, hospital gown askew and falling off his shoulders. Good thing he has on his boxers, she thought vaguely. His hand was pressed to her cheek.  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet?" the doctor asked firmly. "Are you in pain? Are you feeling any contractions?"  
  
Contractions? Was she? No - no, she wasn't. Just dizzy - and happy. Deliriously happy. She shook her head and lifted her hand to cover his against her cheek, smiling up into his worried eyes. A new wave of relief passed across his face and he slid to his knees, drawing her close and kissing her, right there in front of Leo, and Ron, and Dr. Raniero. And she didn't mind a bit.  
  
When he pulled back, he braced a hand beneath her elbow to help her stand, but Ron moved in quickly.  
  
"Let me do that, sir," he offered in a tone that all of them heard as a command, not a suggestion.  
  
Jed frowned, but apparently saw the wisdom in the move and nodded, pushing himself to a standing position, which didn't last very long. Even as Ron helped Donna struggle to her feet, the President swayed precariously, face paling. Both Leo and the doctor rushed to support him back onto the bed, where he sat, catching his breath.  
  
"Don't tell me I have two patients, now," Ranerio quipped, making sure Jed was secure before turning back to Donna. "Mrs. Bartlet, tell me how you are feeling at this moment."  
  
She considered carefully, taking stock of her body. Really, except for a little light-headedness, she felt all right. No - not all right - great! Her husband was not facing a terminal illness and her baby was healthy and kicking. That was certainly more than she had anticipated a few minutes before. Yes, she felt great.  
  
"I'm all right," she assured them. "Really. It's just that - well, I think the relief was a little too much for me. But that's okay," she added, holding up a hand and beaming at Jed, who had recovered somewhat and beamed back.  
  
"I think you probably need to see your OB, though. I'll have my office call to tell her you're coming."  
  
"No, I'm all ri -"  
  
But the firm voice of her husband cut in. "Yes, thank you, Doctor. She'll go." He lowered his gaze to her, conveying silently his desire for her to do just that and she lifted her eyebrows in acquiescence. Without shifted his attention, he said, "Leo?"  
  
Immediately, his oldest friend stepped forward, nodding and grinning. "Yes, sir. I'll take her."  
  
She stared at both of them for a long moment, then shrugged and accepted Leo's arm, knowing it wouldn't do any good anyway.  
  
Charlie Young cleared his throat with obvious intent as he entered the room. Donna smirked. Even with her husband confined to the Residence for at least two more days, sidelined by illness, his personal aide still wasn't taking any chances on interrupting something he'd pay for later.  
  
"Come on in, Charlie," Jed called from the couch, his cough still persistent, but rumbling with the signs of finally breaking up.  
  
"Mister President," the young man said, "Admiral Fitzwallace and Doctor McNally would like to speak with you if possible."  
  
Trying to clear his throat, Jed settled for a simple hand motion to let Charlie know they could enter.  
  
"Jed," she warned softly, not wanting to let her displeasure be known to anyone except her husband.  
  
"I'm fine, Donna," he assured her, gesturing a casual hand in the air. "Really. I'll just be a minute with them."  
  
A frown crossed her brow and he saw it, as she had intended. "The doctor said - "  
  
"The doctor said to take it easy, and I am. But Fitz and Nancy have something important I need to deal with. I don't have a choice." His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn't. She knew it, too. Knew he didn't have a choice. Knew he tried to take care of himself for her - for the baby. But she also knew he couldn't ignore his duty, couldn't just stop being the President of the United States.  
  
Finally, she smiled back, silently acknowledging his point. "You need anything?" she conceded.  
  
"No." Again he smiled and this time it reached his eyes. "Come here."  
  
As he stood, she walked into his arms, her belly making him lean forward to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, not totally devoid of passion, but not holding any promise for immediate escalation. He was sworn off for the next few weeks. Doctor's orders, damn it.  
  
"Excuse us, Mister President." The voice was startled and full of chagrin. They both looked around at the faces of Admiral Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally. The former grinned widely; the latter winced. McNally continued. "Should we come back later?"  
  
He laughed and released his wife, turning to extend a hand to his National Security Advisor. "Nah. You didn't interrupt anything."  
  
Fitz coughed suddenly and Jed threw a mock glare his way before returning his attention to McNally. "What do you guys have?"  
  
"Plutonium reserves, sir, voluntarily relinquished at Yongbyon." Her voice held more than a hint of triumph.  
  
"They turned it over?" the President asked, astonished.  
  
"Yes, sir," Fitzwallace said. "IAEA feels it is a significant amount, possibly ninety percent of their stores."  
  
Donna watched her husband carefully, seeing him shift his stance, pull his hands from the robe pockets. "Why?"  
  
Nancy answered first. "They're desperate, Mister President. They need our help to build the power plant. We refused until they turned over their supplies of plutonium."  
  
"But we don't have all of it."  
  
"No, sir, but I think we have enough. It will be years before they can acquire enough to bring them back up to where they were. In the meantime - "  
  
"In the meantime, they can grow economically with our help," he finished.  
  
Fitz nodded. "Exactly."  
  
They all waited for a long moment, waited for confirmation of what they wanted to do, waited for their Commander-in-Chief to give the word.  
  
Finally, Jed pursed his lips and sighed. "How many years?"  
  
"Sir?" Fitz asked.  
  
"How many years until they can re-supply?"  
  
"Five. Maybe even ten."  
  
More thinking. More waiting.  
  
"I want it all," the President decided. "Not ninety percent. Not 'enough.' All."  
  
If Nancy was disappointed in her leader, she didn't show it. As a matter of fact, her eyes seemed to shine a little brighter as she nodded crisply.  
  
"All right," Jed said, and everyone in the room knew it was a signal that he was finished. The conversation was over.  
  
"Thank you, Mister President," Fitzwallace said as he and the National Security Advisor left.  
  
Donna watched her husband. He sighed and braced a hand on the back of the couch, turning to look into the fireplace that was currently hosting the first warm blaze of the season. She trailed her eyes to the window and counted the turning leaves. More than half the trees blazed with golden, burgundy, and crimson.  
  
"Hard decision?" she asked, still not sure what her role was in foreign politics.  
  
An unpleasant chuckle shook him slightly. "No. The funny part is that wasn't a hard decision. But it might be a hard result if it backfires."  
  
"You mean they might not be that desperate?"  
  
He coughed again, and shook his head. "I think they are." With a shrug, he turned back to her, smiling. "We'll see, anyway. Now, where was I?" His arms slinked around her non-existent waist in a valiant, but vain, attempt to encircle it.  
  
"Jed," she protested, knowing it would only frustrate both of them.  
  
With a quick kiss, he stepped back, keeping his hand on her belly. "I felt her," he grinned.  
  
Not too hard these days. The baby danced and boxed most of the time now, making it a point to be most active when Donna wanted to rest. The funny thing was if she wanted to show off the baby's kicking prowess, nothing happened, but anytime Jed placed his hand on her to feel, his child cooperated immediately. Figured.  
  
"Hey, Emily," he whispered.  
  
Emily? "Where'd that come from?"  
  
He cut his eyes to look up at her. "I don't know. I just like it. What about you?"  
  
Apparently, this was name time. They had tiptoed around the subject for months, now, and this was the first time he had initiated any conversation about that subject. Donna wasn't exactly sure where she stood on it. She was afraid to suggest what she really wanted, thinking it was too weird. She didn't know how he would take it.  
  
"It's nice," she agreed.  
  
Standing with more ease than he had a few days before, he took her hand and led her back to the couch. "I guess it's time to talk about this," he said.  
  
It was natural, now, assuming the position with him lying on the sofa, his legs spread so she could lie between them, his hands automatically moving to her belly. They settled in for a moment before he continued.  
  
"Donna, I have named, or at least given in to names for three people in my life - not to mention a good number of dogs, cats, hamsters, horses, and one porcupine."  
  
"Porcupine?"  
  
"Long story. What I'm saying is, you can name her anything you want. I know whatever you choose will be wonderful." She heard the smile in his voice and felt a swell of love and excitement.  
  
"Anything?"  
  
"Well, unless you're goin' for Moon Unit or somethin' like that."  
  
"Moon Unit Bartlet. Has a ring to it, don't you think?"  
  
His silence surprised her. Surely he didn't think -  
  
"I had a Boxer named Apollo, once. Buzz Aldrin gave him to the girls when I was in Congress."  
  
Okay, there was probably a connection there, but she wasn't sure she knew exactly what it was. "Jed?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why do you always call the baby her? Why do you think it's a girl?"  
  
She felt his shrug push at her own shoulders. "I don't know. I just do."  
  
"It could be a boy," she posed.  
  
"It's a girl." Said with no regret, but with conviction.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I just know."  
  
Twisting a little so she could see his face, she lowered her brow. "You just know, huh? Do you know everything?"  
  
"Pretty much." Then he laughed. "Hey, who is the Trivial Pursuit King?"  
  
"I did win that once," she reminded him, a tingle running through her at the memory of what happened that evening. They had kissed, passionately, and she even got his shirt off before he regained enough control to stop the spiraling momentum. But she had declared her desire for him flat out, stunning him, and paving the way for their first incredible night together a few weeks later.  
  
"Want a rematch?" she challenged.  
  
"Now?"  
  
Snuggling back against him, she said, "Sure. Okay, I've got one. Who is the sexiest President?"  
  
"Hmm. Let's see - Kennedy?"  
  
"Not Kennedy."  
  
He paused for a moment, then offered, "Harding was considered handsome."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Grover Cleveland."  
  
"Grover Cleveland?" Strange that he should bring him up. She thought back to her conversation with Margaret about that very person so many months ago.  
  
Jed argued his point. "He married a much younger woman, had a family with her. Even withheld the fact that he had a serious illness. Imagine that."  
  
"Illness?" New information for her.  
  
"Throat cancer."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. He even had surgery while he was in office. " A rueful sigh escaped. "He didn't have the same press corps to contend with."  
  
She closed her eyes as his thumb rubbed gently across her abdomen. "Why do you think his wife married him?"  
  
"Charm, sex appeal."  
  
"Grover Cleveland? Maybe he had money."  
  
He lifted his head and she felt his breath on her cheek. "Are you saying that's the only reason a younger woman marries an older man?"  
  
Trying to stifle a giggle, she said, "Well, it helps."  
  
He grunted in mock insult.  
  
"But that's not the only reason."  
  
"No? What else?"  
  
"Because he's handsome, and he's kind, and he's funny - and he's really good in bed," she declared.  
  
She heard him swallow and couldn't ignore the immediate reaction of his body beneath hers. "Uh oh. Can't start that."  
  
A groan pushed from his lips. "There's a word for a woman like you."  
  
"Yeah, I know - "  
  
But before she could say it, he supplied, "Beautiful."  
  
God, she loved this man. "Jed?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Should she do it? Go on. Take the chance. You'll never find out, otherwise. "What about Abigail?"  
  
The stiffness that suddenly hardened his muscles revealed his feelings clearly. After a very long pause, he asked in a whisper, "What about her?"  
  
Gently. Do this gently. "Our child. What about naming her Abigail?" Her heart quickened in anticipation of his response.  
  
She had to wait at least two full minutes before he spoke. When he did, his voice was raw with emotion. "You would - you would do that?"  
  
Now she turned in his arms, lay on her side so she could look up at him. "I think it's the perfect name."  
  
The brightness in his eyes overflowed into tears, even though he remained silent. Finally, a simple nod told her everything she needed to know, and he eased her onto her back again, curling his body around her, his lips in her hair, his arms enfolding her tenderly.  
  
They lay in silence, watching the flames leap and dance until the light from the windows faded so that only the warm, cozy reflection of the blaze provided the only illumination to the room. And Charlie found them that way, asleep, when he came to check on them. 


	5. Chapter Five

For all of you who have hung in there with Jed and Donna for this story, here's the reward. Enjoy!  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: none Rating: R (You've been warned.) Disclaimer: Although I wish Donna and Jed were mine (especially Jed), they are not.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter Five A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna Bartlet shifted in the chair, trying without any success to locate a comfortable position, if only for a minute or two. She sighed, and felt her husband's fingers squeeze hers gently, rubbing the left hand finger that the ring he gave her no longer encircled. No, that ring hung on a chain around her neck. Hung there because her fingers now had swollen in the last days of pregnancy to the point that she decided not to fight it anymore. On or off? Off, at least for the duration. But on immediately after that.  
  
His touch still sent electric shocks through her body; his glance still provoked heated images and desires, but she knew they were waiting now. Waiting until the baby was born. Waiting out of concern, just in case their actions caused harm. But mostly waiting because it had become just too damned hard. Finding a good position was difficult and most evenings they just held each other with her reclined against him, his legs on either side of her, on the couch. But he had not complained once, had merely grinned at her and promised her deliciously intriguing post-partum scenarios that left her teased and tingling. "After the baby comes - "  
  
The baby. That was why they were there. Although she was just now coming into an acceptable time frame for the birth publicly, privately she knew she had passed that time, and her body grew more cumbersome and miserable with each day. Her weekly visits became dreaded pronouncements that "it shouldn't be long, now."  
  
Yeah. Heard that before.  
  
She looked up at Dr. Carlstein, unable to push the stark begging from her face. The obstetrician smiled sympathetically. "You're ten days past your due date, Mrs. Bartlet," she explained.  
  
Don't have to tell me that, Donna thought.  
  
"Still, the baby's not too big, yet. I'd really like to wait just a couple of days longer before we induce. It's better on you and on the baby."  
  
Sighing, Donna glanced at Jed, who tried to lend his support without actually carrying the child for her.  
  
"Oh, God," she moaned. "Two more days? This has got to be the most stubborn kid - "  
  
"Sorry," Jed grinned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I guess she's already started taking after me," he joked.  
  
The doctor chuckled and Donna figured she would have probably found it funnier if she hadn't been so damned miserable. Nevertheless, she tried not to show her irritation, knowing it was totally undeserved.  
  
"Yeah," she mumbled.  
  
Jed turned to the doctor, brow lifted. "Isn't there anything we can do?"  
  
"Well," she said hesitantly, "there are - uh - methods that some couples have found speed things up."  
  
Donna brightened and wondered why Jed had suddenly colored slightly. "Like?" she prompted, the eagerness bouncing in her voice.  
  
Now the doctor actually looked a little uncomfortable, too. She shot a glance at the President before answering. "Ah, I have had prospective parents tell me that - that having sexual relations - intercourse - can trigger labor." She avoided Jed's fiery gaze.  
  
"Is it safe?" he asked.  
  
Donna saw the hesitancy warring with excitement in his eyes. Under doctor's orders, they had not had sex during his recuperation, and by the time he was released from those limitations, she had been the reluctant party pooper. That made two months of celibacy, but now - now their orders had done a 180-degree turn.  
  
"Yes, sir," Carlstein assured him. "As a matter of fact, labor initiated that way is preferable to artificial induction. Natural."  
  
He regarded both women for a moment, then apparently overcame any embarrassment he had felt and broke out into a wide grin. Donna punched him in the arm. "Hey!" he protested. "Doctor's orders."  
  
The doctor blushed, but smiled in obvious surprise at the boyish glee in her President's eyes. "Yes, sir," she confirmed.  
  
"Okay, Doc. Thanks for your help." He stood quickly and pulled Donna to her feet. "We've gotta go, now."  
  
"Jed!"  
  
"You heard the doctor, Baby."  
  
"But - "  
  
"No buts. I had to follow orders for a whole month and they worked, didn't they?"  
  
He had her there and she frowned at the irony. She had practically hog- tied him to the bed to make sure he totally recovered from the bout with acute bronchitis that had scared the hell out of all of them. Now he was pulling the same argument on her - possibly even the hog-tying aspect.  
  
"So your turn," he gloated. "And what kind of husband would I be if I didn't do everything in my power to help?"  
  
"You are incorrigible."  
  
"Yes. And you love me."  
  
"Yes, I do." Trailing behind him, his hand tugging her along, she managed a "Thank you" to the doctor before they were in the hall, surrounded by bemused agents, headed toward the limo, then the Residence, where they planned to carry out the doctor's orders to the very best of their abilities. And that was pretty damn good.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"You'll see."  
  
She followed her husband through the White House, feeling almost as if they were sneaking away, if it weren't for the glimpse of their ubiquitous agents at regular intervals. Jonah followed discreetly and she wondered where he planned to light when they finally, well, got down to it. It was evening, after eleven, and the West Wing was quiet; the entire house seemed settled and asleep, even though she knew work still went on, probably, in townhouses and apartments in Georgetown and Arlington and Alexandria and Chevy Chase. He reached back, clasping her hand in his, and moving to the doors just ahead.  
  
"Jed - "  
  
"Shh," he cautioned, not looking back. Not for the first time, she watched him, his robe cinched around his waist, the golden hair curving on his bare calves, and wondered where they were going late at night in their robes. She wore her nightgown under hers. She wasn't sure what he wore besides the robe.  
  
"We're going outside?"  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
"What - "  
  
"You'll see."  
  
The hedges shielded them as they eased down the walk and Donna suddenly knew their destination.  
  
"Jed, you can't be serious!" she exclaimed, pulling back.  
  
Her action forced him to stop, to swing around in obvious frustration. "Donna, it's okay. The agents have secured the area."  
  
"But what if - "  
  
"No. This will work."  
  
She sighed, not convinced, but the eagerness on his face, the way his hair fell over his forehead, and the intriguing mystery of what he wore under the robe won her over.  
  
"Okay," she agreed and was treated to a happy grin.  
  
"We couldn't use the hot tub," he explained as they walked the last few feet. "Too hot. I checked with the doctor."  
  
"You asked the doctor about - "  
  
He shrugged. "Well, she's the one that told us to. Anyway, so then I figured, what about the pool? It's heated, but not much, and it will provide the buoyancy we need to - well - to be flexible." He had stopped beside the White House swimming pool, usually known as the Ford Pool for the President who installed it. The water shimmered darkly against the reflective light, but promised enough privacy to be inviting, especially since she knew the secret service stood guard nearby - but not too close, she hoped. Jonah had vanished.  
  
Hesitantly, she tipped in a toe and was surprised to find him exactly right. The water was warm, not quite bath temperature, but quite nice. "You 're really planning to - to - in the pool?"  
  
He grinned. "Why not?"  
  
Why not, indeed? Suddenly she felt adventurous, risky. Suppose there was a reporter hiding nearby? Suppose a helicopter flew over? Suppose - But she knew those things wouldn't happen. Still, the mere possibility made the situation all the more exciting.  
  
"I didn't bring my suit," she told him.  
  
"You won't need it." Oh, the snap in his eyes with that remark. She felt a twinge between her thighs at his blatant promise.  
  
He stepped toward her, hands at her waist, loosening the ties that held the robe closed. Lifting her arms to give him easy access, she smiled when he got a look at the sheer black short nightie Margaret had bought her earlier in her pregnancy. He licked his lips unconsciously and pushed the robe from her shoulders, pulling her closer and kissing her with soft, gentle lips. His hands smoothed the material over her breasts before his mouth pressed against them. She moaned and fought to remain standing, hoping the agents weren't listening too closely.  
  
Maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe it was because her hormones had been so screwed up. Whatever the reason, she found her desire escalating rapidly. Taking his face between her hands, she probed his mouth hard and deep with her tongue, then took his tongue and sucked sensuously, mimicking actions she had taken on other parts of him before. He groaned, giving in to her pace, her urgency. She knew he felt it, too. He had gone without just as long.  
  
Her fingers reached for his belt, untied the ends and let the robe fall open. Oh yes! She had hoped to find exactly that: only his bare body, very masculine and very hard and very ready for her. She tossed the robe on top of hers and turned back to him, slowly curling her fingers around the swollen shaft, caressing him lower. His gasp reinforced her movements, but she knew things wouldn't stay slow. Already, her breath had quickened, her heart pumped faster, harder.  
  
Sliding the gown from her body, he took her hand and led her into the shallows of the pool. The warm water swirled around her, lifted her, so that she felt light again, agile almost. Lifting her in his arms, he cradled her body like a baby's, letting her float against him. He continued to support her with his left arm, but moved his right down to rub her legs along the thighs, outside, then inside, inching higher until he brushed her gently and sneaked warm fingers inside. Oh! That felt good - too good, but she couldn't help arching against him, pushing his probe deeper. He leaned down to kiss her, to brush her lips with the lightest touch. Then he straightened and withdrew his fingers, and she moaned at the loss.  
  
She stood and urged him back toward the steps, motioning with her hand for him to stand on the bottom step. He tried to draw her against him, but she threw a hand up between them and shook her head. With a heated smile, she knelt in the shallow water and ran her fingers across the tip of his erection. As he looked down at her, she eased forward to take him in her mouth, please when his eyes closed and his head fell back in delicious agony.  
  
"Holy Mary," he groaned as her teeth slid lightly over the smooth skin.  
  
His hand fell to cradle her head, urging her harder against him. She drew him in, then tugged back, sucking gently at first, then more forcefully, until his accelerated breathing and tight muscles told her he was too close. Somehow, he gathered enough willpower to push her away, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it.  
  
"Baby," he ground out between clenched teeth, "if you keep that up, we'll miss the whole purpose of this activity."  
  
Pulling back, she grinned at him. "Oh, I'll keep it up, all right."  
  
"Come here," he ordered, tugging at her shoulders, voice gruff, but eyes soft.  
  
She rose and stepped as close to him as she could get with her huge belly between them. Turning her so that she faced away from him, he drew her back against him and sat, pulling her down; she pushed back, enjoying the hard heat pressing against her buttocks. Now she had an idea about what he wanted to do, or at least how he wanted to do it. His hands tickled, caressed, and rubbed over her belly and breasts. She felt the pulse, heard the groan and knew that neither of them would last long.  
  
In support of her theory, he pulled her onto his lap. "Donna," he whispered, "you doin' okay?"  
  
"Oh yeah," she breathed. "Oh yeah." He guided himself to the familiar entrance, pushed a little until she felt the thick head slide in. Oh, she had missed that feeling.  
  
"Let me know if you need me to slow down," he told her.  
  
Fat chance. "Uh uh." She moaned encouragement, relishing the feeling of him moving inside her again, of his warm presence, of his fullness.  
  
"Still okay?" She couldn't tell if he was teasing or serious.  
  
"Yes," she hissed. "Go on."  
  
With another thrust of his hips, his hands holding her steady, he sank deep inside, unable and unwilling to suppress a gasp of pleasure himself. It had been a long time for them. His lips found her shoulders, her neck, nibbled on them, licked the water from them.  
  
"Donna," he whispered at her ear. "This feels too good. I don't know how long - "  
  
"Me, too," she agreed, her body aching for him to move, to pump hard. "I'm ready," she moaned. "I'm ready, Jed."  
  
Her hands grabbed his thighs, giving herself leverage to arch against him as they began to move. He pulled back, then pushed upward and the feeling of him sliding in and out was too exquisite to suppress a loud groan. She half expected to see Ron crash through the hedges he was probably loitering behind, but Jed Bartlet's secret service had learned from experience under fire. They knew when to move and when to stay. No one interrupted them as her husband's hand reached around to move between her legs, his touch electrifying her, shattering any concerns she might have had about Ron, or Jonah, or anyone but the man who held her right then.  
  
"Still okay?" he asked again.  
  
"No."  
  
Immediately, he stopped, pulling his hand away, stilling his movement. "Donna?" Concern. Alarm. Guilt.  
  
Even though she knew he didn't see her smile, she figured he would hear it in her voice. "Come on, Big Boy, show me what you can do." It occurred to her that Ron probably heard that, too, but she didn't care. Didn't care that it was loud and corny. Didn't care that both of them would probably laugh about it later. Didn't care about anything except finishing what they had started.  
  
Neither, apparently, did Jed.  
  
She felt his first response, and closed her eyes at the sensation. His second response was a low, hoarse agreement to do exactly what she demanded. And the third response carried him into her harder and deeper than he had allowed himself to go in several months. Suddenly, his hands were every where, the sharp pulses from his fingers and the tingle of his mouth on her neck connecting in a spider web of high voltage. She arched her back, met his full solid thrusts with equal force.  
  
They were both breathing hard, both trying to get even closer, which was impossible, she knew, but she felt the need to try, nevertheless. Her hands grabbed at his thighs, digging into the flesh, hanging on for the wild ride. Still, the suddenness of that ultimate sensation surprised her, overtook her with little warning and she cried out as her muscles erupted in the dizzying spasms. She jerked forward against his hand, then back against his hips. And he did not stop, could not stop, she realized. More than anything, she wanted him with her.  
  
"Come with me, Jed," she gasped, still arching against him. "I need you to."  
  
Opening his mouth in a groan rich with passion, he followed obediently, choking out her name as he thrust up, pushing deep inside her, coming in hard, burning pulses that she felt at the very core of her body. The sensation threw her into even more intense spasms and she clutched at him, urging him to go deeper, push harder, which he did, over and over, until they both shared a final, incredible pulse of pleasure and fell against each other, his arms around her belly, her head on his chest.  
  
For a long time, except for their ragged breathing, there was silence, no talking, no movement. She thought again of their protection and hoped no one got worried enough to come see if they had both had heart attacks. His heart pounded against her back, and he fought to get control of his struggling lungs.  
  
Suddenly concerned, she asked, "You okay?"  
  
He grunted, perhaps the only sound he was capable of at the moment.  
  
"Jed?" A little sharper now. Don't scare me.  
  
Deep breath. "Mmm?"  
  
"Are you okay?" She stirred, sitting up and forcing his chin from its resting place on top of her head.  
  
"Hey," he protested, and her heart could beat again.  
  
"Are you having trouble breathing?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"I'm fine, Donna," he assured her, amusement mixed with a slice of irritation in his tone.  
  
All right. Let it go. "I've missed you," she sighed.  
  
He roused himself and slowly withdrew, easing her off. As the cooler air touched her wet skin, shivers raced across, pulling chill bumps to dots the surface.  
  
"Too bad this pool isn't indoors," she noted, ducking back down so only her neck and head broke the surface.  
  
"It was," he said, taking both her hands in his and gliding out into deeper water. "Or at least there was an indoor pool. FDR had it built so he could exercise his legs."  
  
They floated peacefully, touching each other, fingers just dancing lightly and randomly. "What happened to it?"  
  
He snorted. "Ironically, Nixon filled it in for more press corps space."  
  
"Bet he regretted that," she figured.  
  
Water swirled gently around them as he guided her through the water "Yeah. Did it work?"  
  
"You mean Nixon's plan?"  
  
"Sex."  
  
"Oh." She assessed her body. The ripples of pleasure were fading still, and she felt nothing but release and peace. "I don't know. Not yet, anyway."  
  
"Well, I guess we'll just have to try again then, huh?" The grin in his voice matched the curve of his lips, and when she ran her hands down his body, she felt an immediate response.  
  
"I guess so," she agreed, following him back to the steps. As he moved inside her once more, she hoped their agents didn't mind their night patrol because they would be on it for a little while longer. And as she heard Jed's gasp and her own groan, she decided Ron and Jonah had probably figured that out already. 


	6. Chapter Six

This is the last chapter of "Love's Creation." If there are interested folks out there, I can continue with the next story, "Jewel of Their Souls." Thanks for reading.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: Except for Dr. Carlstein, these are not my characters.  
  
Love's Creation - Chapter Six A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna lumbered toward her office, frustrated at - well, her own body, she guessed. Certainly not at Jed. He had done his job well, had cooperated eagerly and admirably under "doctor's orders." They had stayed in the pool for a long time the night before, so long that their fingers and toes wrinkled, and afterwards, when they finally stumbled upstairs and fell into each other's arms, exhausted, she still lay awake, assessing her body. Nothing. Not a twinge, not a spasm. Not even the false hope of a Braxton- Hicks contraction. She had gotten nothing at all from the evening - well, except for several hours of really good sex. She blushed at the vivid memory of some of the more creative positions they had tried with the help of the buoyant water.  
  
"Morning!"  
  
Startled, she turned enough to see Margaret catching up behind her, suit in its usual, impeccable condition, accenting her slender figure. Donna hated her.  
  
"Hey," she acknowledged nevertheless, trying to keep the envy from her tone.  
  
"How's the President?" Margaret asked the same question she had asked every day since Jed had been sick.  
  
"He's fine," she answered truthfully. He was fine. Completely healed and re-energized from the forced rest. If last night hadn't proved it, nothing would. "Quite chipper today, as a matter of fact," she added.  
  
Margaret's brow lifted. "Really?"  
  
Okay, that smirk indicated knowledge of some juicy information, obviously about her.  
  
"Would his chipperness have anything to do with that grin on your face?"  
  
"Margaret!"  
  
"Or with the fact that he told Leo yesterday that if he tried to find you guys last night, he'd better be glowing with radiation from the nuclear bomb that just dropped.  
  
Donna sighed. Poor Leo. She was glad - for many reasons - that he had been spared the agony of another interruption. "Could be," she acknowledged vaguely.  
  
Margaret nodded, pleased at her deduction, and fell into step beside her. "I saw him this morning. He does look quite chipper. And relaxed. You, on the other hand - "  
  
"Margaret - " she warned.  
  
" - you look horrible."  
  
Gee, thanks. Just what a grossly pregnant woman wants to hear.  
  
"I mean, well - do you feel okay?"  
  
No. My back is killing me and this baby's sitting on my bladder. "Fine."  
  
Although her expression seemed doubtful, Margaret moved on. "Did it work?"  
  
"Did what work?"  
  
"Last night."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Last night. You know - are you in labor?"  
  
"Margaret! How did you - "  
  
"Well, I figured you had a definite mission, as adamant as the President was about Leo staying away. Besides, that's what my cousin and her husband did."  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
"Like a charm," Margaret assured her.  
  
Donna sighed. "That was the plan, yeah, but so far - nothing."  
  
"Well, you'll just have to keep trying," she grinned.  
  
Donna smiled. "That's what Jed said.  
  
This brought a blush to Margaret's cheeks. Finally.  
  
"Anyway, I've got this reception tonight, so it's just as well."  
  
"That's right," Margaret remembered. "For the Ambassador of Bali?"  
  
"Mali."  
  
"Yeah. Well -"  
  
Whatever she might have said was lost under a familiar, enthusiastic greeting. "Hey, ladies."  
  
They turned as Josh Lyman sauntered down the hall toward them. "Margaret."  
  
"Josh."  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet."  
  
"Mister Lyman."  
  
She really wasn't in the humor today to banter with her former boss, but she didn't want to be rude, either, so she resumed her waddle toward the office door.  
  
"Hey!" he called. "You, uh, you need any help?"  
  
Help? "What do you mean?" She dared him to say it.  
  
"I just, uh, well, you look like - I mean, you seem - Geez, Donna, you look horrible."  
  
Once again, such tact. "Really?"  
  
That look suddenly crossed his face. That look that said, "I just screwed up and there's absolutely no way out of it, but I'm going to try, anyway."  
  
"In a beautiful - pregnant - sort of way - " he floundered.  
  
A familiar cough snapped around the heads of everyone in the hallway and it cleared quickly as the President strolled toward them, hands in his pockets, head cocked curiously.  
  
"You know, Josh," he began in that professorial tone, drawing an immediate grimace from his impromptu student, "one of these days some girl, overcome, no doubt by a form of incurable dementia, will agree to marry you. And if you are so blessed - although I'm not sure about the rest of the world - she will bear your children. And as she approaches - or exceeds - the anticipated delivery of your children, there is one thing you might want to do."  
  
She could tell he didn't want to ask, but he had to, anyway. "What's that, sir?"  
  
The President leveled a pointed look at him. "Keep your mouth totally and completely shut."  
  
Margaret snickered. Donna grinned. Josh just reddened and nodded.  
  
"Yes, sir. Good advice, sir."  
  
"Damn right it is," Jed agreed, turning his attention to his very pregnant wife, his voice shifting from the teasing punch he had shown Josh to the warm caress he reserved for her alone. "Hey." So much in that one word.  
  
She felt the heat race up her face at the intimacy of the tone. Apparently, she wasn't alone. Both Margaret and Josh ducked their heads and coughed discreetly.  
  
"Well, uh, I'll just be, uh - going," the Deputy Chief of Staff muttered, stumbling backwards down the hallway. But he couldn't' quite overcome his genuine concern for his former assistant. "Uh, if you'll pardon me for saying, so, Mister President - "  
  
Jed twisted to pin him with a sharp glare. Undaunted, Josh dared to continue. "Make the First Lady take a load off. 'Cause she really does look - "  
  
"Horrible?" Donna finished for him, smiling despite the tactless comment. She read the caring behind his words.  
  
For a moment, she was afraid of Jed's response, but he had already comprehended the situation, perhaps even before she had. "You heard the man," he said, tossing his head toward her closed office door. "Take a load off, Mrs. Bartlet."  
  
With a wide grin, Josh ran a hand through his hair and continued, forward this time, toward the bullpen.  
  
Her husband stepped closer, his hand at her elbow, his eyes suddenly holding hers with an intensity she had come to expect. Instantly, she was back in his arms, floating in the warm water, arching against him, feeling him inside -  
  
She opened her eyes to find his gaze still on her, his hand still in the same position, his lips parted expectantly, his breathing accelerated, as if he felt the same jolt, re-lived the same sensations. And she almost grabbed his arm to drag him into the office, to close the door, to christen her couch like they had not quite managed to do yet in the Oval Office. Too many windows.  
  
But a low "ahem" stopped her before she could even consider the wisdom of that idea. Both turned their gazes simultaneously, coming to rest on Margaret, her lips pursed, her head snapping back and forth between them. "Did you, uh, need something, Mister President? Is there something I can get for you?"  
  
"No." Jed looked back at Donna.  
  
But Margaret was persistent. "Coffee, maybe? Or water?"  
  
He didn't remove his gaze. "No." More firmly this time.  
  
"See, it wouldn't be any trouble. I'll just -"  
  
Jed's sudden kiss startled his wife. Not that she minded, but they were standing in the middle of the East Wing hall.  
  
"Margaret, does the door to my wife's office lock?" the President choked out, his mouth hovering only inches away from Donna's.  
  
Leo's secretary stared at him, her eyes wide. "Uh - "  
  
"Jed!" What was he doing?  
  
He dragged her against him as best he could and leaned in for a harder kiss. "I mean," he rasped in a stage whisper, "I came by for our usual - you know - meeting."  
  
What the hell -  
  
"You know, the meeting, our usual meet - Oh hell, I need you, Donna. I need you now." He turned to Margaret, whose jaw had just thudded on the ground. "No offense, but I don't think I can wait any longer." Now he looked back at his confused wife. "Hop up on that desk there, Baby."  
  
A strangled exclamation was all that was left of Margaret when they turned toward her. What on earth was going on? But when she looked back at Jed, he had braced himself on the afore-mentioned desk and was laughing. Laughing so hard that he had to bend over to catch his breath.  
  
"Jed?" She wasn't worried, exactly. But she did still have some concerns about his physical health. Or perhaps, she thought, watching him now, she should consider his mental health, too.  
  
"Maybe - " he tried, unable to continue at first. "Maybe, " he tried again, "she'll learn to take a hint sooner."  
  
Ah. "You, Mister President," Donna accused, "are impertinent." The relief of comprehension flowed through her.  
  
He grinned, finally managing to bring his laughter under control. "Me and Squirrel Nutkin."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Boy do you have a lot to learn, Mom," he declared. "Beatrix Potter?" At her blank expression, he added, "Peter Rabbit?"  
  
Oh.  
  
"The girls loved her and she was quite an erudite children's writer, by the way. Squirrel Nutkin is impertinent. "  
  
"Really?" She guessed she'd spent too much time with Mother Goose. It figured he'd find a children's book with a college vocabulary.  
  
With enthusiasm, he launched into a laudatory commentary on the writer. "Amazing, actually. Zoey was using the word correctly at eighteen months." His eyes shone. "And Ellie knew at two that Jemima Puddle Duck complained about the 'superfluous' hen."  
  
Okay, this was scary.  
  
"She also pushed around a perambulator."  
  
"Ellie?'  
  
"Jemima Puddle Duck." As if everybody knew that.  
  
Donna found this hard to believe, but he seemed quite certain. Well, maybe when she finished War and Peace she'd tackle Beatrix Potter.  
  
"You know," he observed, face straightening into more serious lines. "You do look - "  
  
"Don't say it - "  
  
" - tired," he finished tactfully, and she wasn't sure if he had changed his sentence or not.  
  
"Well, it's your fault. Who wouldn't be after a night like last night?"  
  
"Umm," he grunted, sliding his arm around her waist, or at least as far as he could get it. "So it's my fault, is it?" Then he shifted his suggestive smirk to a gentle smile and reached up, slipping a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Anything yet?"  
  
She knew what he meant. She shook her head. "Not yet."  
  
"Wanna try again tonight?" He really was impertinent. Or maybe just insatiable. Either way, she was glad of it.  
  
Her brain yelled, "yes!" but as much as she hated to admit it, she didn't feel so hot, and couldn't see herself mustering up the energy for hours of lovemaking. "We have the reception for the ambassador from Bali, tonight," she hedged.  
  
"Mali," he corrected, adding a clear and succinct expletive to express his disappointment.  
  
"Besides," she soothed, "I'm still a little sore." True. They had expended a great deal of energy and muscle.  
  
Now his eyes softened in true comprehension. "Okay," he said, smiling and leading her to the couch. "Why don't you do what Josh suggested: Take a load off until then? 'Cause you really do look - "  
  
"Horrible?"  
  
He colored and shrugged. "Well - "  
  
Donna smiled tiredly. "I know."  
  
The First Lady of the United States took a moment to ease into a corner chair, at least temporarily under the radar of the ubiquitous baby-watching reporters. She didn't know exactly where they had disappeared to, but this was a rare opportunity she couldn't let pass.  
  
Sliding her swollen feet into another chair, she breathed as deeply as the baby would allow and watched the crowd. It was a small affair, not that many people even knew there was a Mali ambassador, but the U.S. had been trying to help this poor country increase its economic growth, and evidently a deal had been brokered that involved gold mining. Whatever the reason, Donna wished the evening would wind down so she could go to bed. Her back ached, her legs throbbed, and her stomach protested the little bit she had put into it.  
  
Across the room, she saw her husband standing under the green, yellow, and red bands of the Mali flag, engaged in deep conversation with an attractive, slender congresswoman, one she thought she remembered from some other state dinner, one who was unattached. More than a twinge of jealousy flashed through her, even though logic told her she was being ridiculous.  
  
He looked good - really good - in his tuxedo, his stance relaxed, his mouth open in a smile, her hand placed casually on his arm. Hmm. Frowning, she tried to make a telepathic connection with him, tried to turn the offending arm into a current of electricity. But he was too caught up in the animation of his story.  
  
Fortunately, before she could make a scene, Margaret slipped between them, settling obliviously at the table. "Having fun, yet?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah. Lots."  
  
"Listen, I'm, uh, I'm really sorry about this morning." Her eyes shot back to where Jed still entertained the dazzled woman. "I didn't know you guys - I mean - I didn't realize the President and you usually - "  
  
Good old Margaret. She wished Jed could hear her, to see how convincing his act had been. Her laugh stopped the awkward apology.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Margaret - he was kidding. He doesn't - that is, we don't - well, he was just kidding."  
  
Doubt still lingered on her friend's face, her eyes flickering down to Donna's protruding belly, but she smiled anyway. "Okay."  
  
But the amusement faded as abruptly as it had come on. Her back still ached, her feet still throbbed and Jed still stood talking to that damned female, who now had the audacity to smooth his jacket lapel. And he didn't even realize she was coming on to him right there in the East Room. Okay, that was enough. With no little effort, she shoved her body from the chair, shaking off Margaret's startled offer of aid, and pounded toward her unsuspecting husband.  
  
"Josiah?" Soft, calm, deceptive. But she never called him that, so when he turned, she saw the wariness all over his face.  
  
"Donnatella?" he returned in kind, glancing at the quickly retreating hands of his conversationalist. Ah. She watched the comprehension dawn. "Donna?" he said, voice admitting his role, however innocent, in her discomfort.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Mister President," the congresswoman said hastily, backing away.  
  
At least now that he realized what had been happening, he had the good sense to look sheepish. With a helpless shrug, he asked, "Dance?"  
  
The sheer absurdity of the proposal brought a relieved laugh to her lips, effectively dispelling the jealousy that had momentarily overtaken her. "Right."  
  
He smiled, extending a hand.  
  
"Jed! I can't dance with you."  
  
"Why not?" he asked with apparent sincerity. "I won't step on your feet."  
  
"I couldn't see it if you did," she noted with a rueful touch of humor.  
  
"Mrs. Bartlet?"  
  
In her peripheral vision, she saw the dark-skinned man approach. He wore a sash that looked like a Miss America ribbon across his chest, bowed deeply, and gave her a deferential nod.  
  
"Ambassador Diarrah." Jed reached his hand out in greeting, lifting his chin in acknowledgement of the hovering translator.  
  
"I bring greetings from President Toure and Prime Minister Keita," the Ambassador announced in a rehearsed rhythm, glancing at the translator for confirmation of his accuracy.  
  
"Welcome," Jed returned simply.  
  
"My gratuity - "  
  
The translator leaned in and whispered something to the ambassador, who smiled and began again. "My gratitude for your impossible - "  
  
Another whisper from the translator.  
  
"For your impressive party."  
  
Patiently, Jed accepted the praise. "Thank you."  
  
"And for your hospital."  
  
Donna frowned, but Jed jumped in ahead of the translator.  
  
" -ity," he finished. "Hospitality. Our pleasure, Mister Ambassador. I spoke with Ambassador Ranneberger just the other day - "  
  
She tried to maintain focus on the three, tried to listen to the polite conversation, tried not to cast an evil glare at the congresswoman who still threw occasional looks their way. But the growing discomfort in her back demanded her entire attention.  
  
"Don't you agree, Donna?" Jed was asking. She had no idea at all what he had said, but made a weak attempt to provide a response.  
  
"Well, I - " She stopped as the pain in her back stretched around the front, almost doubling her over.  
  
"About the econ - Donna?"  
  
Oh boy, that hurt. But the uncomfortable pressure was forgotten at the surprising sensation of the gush from between her legs. It took a moment to realize what had happened, and in that moment, she and Jed stared at each other.  
  
"Oh my God!" he finally snapped. "Oh my God! You - you - Charlie!" he called, oblivious to the startled attention they had drawn from every person in the room.  
  
"Jed!" she cried, clutching her stomach and failing to fight back a groan.  
  
Ambassador and translator both forgotten, he caught her as her legs buckled and her grasp on consciousness loosened.  
  
"Donna? Charlie! Where the hell - "  
  
Then Charlie was there, with Ron and Jonah close behind - and at least a dozen reports clamoring for a better view.  
  
She heard Jed's voice, harsh and angry. "Get them out of here!" Then someone was yelling to clear the room.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"I'm here, Baby," he assured her, the sound close to her ear. "You're okay. You're okay."  
  
They had eased her to the floor and she felt better, not as lightheaded. Opening her eyes, she found her husband's face and smiled. "Guess it did work," she noted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The pool."  
  
His grin didn't quite mask the concern behind his eyes, but he nodded. "Guess so."  
  
"Sir?" Ron's voice. "The Suburban's pulled around. GW's alerted. We're ready."  
  
"Donna?" Jed asked again at her ear. "You ready?"  
  
She felt dizzy, disoriented. Ready for what? Then another whip of pain cracked across her back and abdomen and she remembered. "Yes," she hissed. God, yes, she was ready.  
  
Somehow, they made it to the waiting vehicle. Even more amazing was the fact that they allowed Jed to crawl in the back, too, his hand never leaving hers.  
  
She'd never had a baby before, had heard the horror stories from aunts, had wondered how she would fare in that situation. Well, she was finding out, wasn't she? She wondered if it was too late to consider adoption.  
  
Then they were there, nurses and doctors swarming around her, wheelchair waiting. She hung on to Jed's hand, the only steady connection to the familiar. In the labor/delivery room, a nurse wiped the sweat from her forehead as Dr. Carlstein checked her.  
  
"Nice job, Mrs. Bartlet," she announced. "You're already five centimeters. This is going fast."  
  
Donna answered with a bellow as the contraction spread through her.  
  
"Can she have an epidural, Doctor?" Jed asked, bless him. Good job, Big Boy. She'd have to reward for that, later.  
  
"I really think she's too far now," Carlstein decided.  
  
Well, damn it.  
  
"I figure we're only an hour or so from delivery." She leaned closer to her patient. "You sure this is your first?" she teased.  
  
Somehow, Donna failed to find the humor. "Yes!" she snapped.  
  
Jed grinned, having gone through this three times already. Apparently, he knew what to expect from a woman in the midst of delivery.  
  
He stayed with her, mopped her brow, fed her ice chips, until the overpowering sensation of wanting to push this baby out hit her.  
  
Finally, Dr. Carlstein appeared and propped up her feet in the break-down bed. "All right. We're there. Ten centimeters, one hundred percent effaced. This baby's coming!"  
  
Yes, yes. Let's do it. Let's do it now!  
  
Jed shifted, still holding her hand even though she knew his own must ache by now.  
  
"All right," Dr. Carlstein said, watching the monitor. "Here comes one."  
  
No kidding. But this time as the strong wave swept over her, she sucked in a hard breath and held it, pushing down.  
  
"Okay," Jed coached. "Push - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten. Great! Relax."  
  
Letting it out, she turned to this man. This man who had done nothing but encourage, and sooth, and pet. Damn him. "You're doing it wrong," she grated out between clenched teeth.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Wrong! Doing it wrong!" Was he deaf? "It's NOT 'Push - ONE - two - three. It's 'Push - TWO - three."  
  
"Donna, I don't see what's so diff - "  
  
Another swell approached. "It is!" she screamed. "Do it the hell right!" Who was this person she had become? But Jed just nodded and held on again.  
  
"Okay. Here we go. Push - TWO - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten."  
  
All right. Better. She'd let him live a while longer.  
  
The clock in the room had become a focal point, and it now showed that she had been pushing for an hour and a half. Longer than Carlstein predicted. That was not helping her mood.  
  
Her legs shook, her arms ached, and she noticed Jed had traded hands. "One more push, Donna. One more," he coaxed.  
  
"You - said that - last time."  
  
"Come on, Donna," Dr. Carlstein said. "I can see the head. You're almost there."  
  
Okay. Okay. Let's do it. She felt the pressure, felt the baby coming and knew she'd gone too far now.  
  
"Come on, Baby," Jed urged her, or maybe the child, or maybe both.  
  
As the pain hit her again, she put everything into the push, forcing down, face red, jaw clenched.  
  
"That's it!" Jed yelled. "That's it!"  
  
And suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through her, then was gone. She felt the child slip from her - and then silence.  
  
No cry. No wail. She had expected the stereotypical slap and scream, but neither occurred. What was happening? Straining to see, to hear, she distinguished several sounds, mainly a low gurgling and wet squirm. Desperate, she glanced up at Jed and her heart froze at the look on his face. He stared, eyes unbelieving, mouth open.  
  
Finally, he managed, "Oh my God." Then he swallowed so hard, she heard it. "Holy Mother."  
  
Oh God, she thought. What is it? What's happened? What's wrong?  
  
"Jed?" She didn't want to know, but she had to know. Had to ask. "What - what is it?"  
  
"It's - it's - the baby."  
  
Tears welled in her eyes. Please, God. Please don't let something be wrong. Please don't.  
  
"What about - the baby? What?" Struggling to push up, she was still unable to see anything. "Jed?"  
  
"The baby - " He stopped, still staring down, not meeting her gaze, not able to tear himself from whatever horrible sight had captured his focus.  
  
"Jed!" A scream, almost. The doctor flinched.  
  
Her husband finally comprehended her anguish and turned back to her, still stunned, still a bit dazed about the eyes. She braced herself. Somehow, they could manage. Or could they? She didn't think she could take one more crisis. Not now.  
  
He grasped her hands. "Donna, the baby - we can't - "  
  
We can't what? We can't handle it? We can't - we can't - WHAT? Oh God, what was it? What was so wrong that Jed couldn't bring himself to tell her?  
  
"We can't name the baby Abigail."  
  
"Huh?" What was he saying? He wasn't making sense.  
  
But then he smiled. He smiled! A shocked, bemused, but delighted smile. "Donna, it's-it's a boy."  
  
A boy? A boy. A boy!  
  
"He's okay? He's okay, Jed?"  
  
The doctor answered. "He's fine, Mrs. Bartlet. A little low on APGAR at first, but he's fine, now."  
  
At that moment, to reinforce the physician's assessment, the younger male Bartlet let out an angry, frustrated bellow and Donna found him placed on her stomach, legs and arms flung wide, lungs taking in his first breaths of air.  
  
She stared at the child, wet and splotched red and white, but still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And he was definitely a boy. Jed thrust a finger into the tiny hand, and his son hung on hard, in search of some security in these moments of being suddenly jerked from the serene existence that was the only thing he had ever known. His eyes were squeezed shut and it was difficult to tell how dark his hair was since he had not yet been cleaned up, but already she saw a clear resemblance to her husband.  
  
As she thought of Jed, she spared a glance away from her newborn to look at his father. The President of the United States stood, his dinner jacket discarded long ago, his tie gone, his collar open, sleeves rolled up, his hair scattered, and his face completely and effectively stunned. But his eyes shone with a light she had not seen in - well, perhaps she had never seen it. He stared at the baby, tugged gently on the hand that still grasped his finger and the tenderness he showed swelled her heart with joy, and love, and pride.  
  
After a moment, he seemed to sense her glance, because he turned toward her. "My God, Donna," he breathed.  
  
She smiled and he leaned forward, kissing her softly, the emotions on his face echoed in the touch of his lips. "You did good," he whispered.  
  
"Well," she corrected and he grinned.  
  
"Would you like to cut the cord, Mister President?" the doctor offered, interrupting their quiet connection.  
  
Jed looked back at her, his brow raised in doubt. "I figure you're better qualified than I am. Be my guest."  
  
Nodding, Carlstein efficiently clipped the obsolete lifeline between mother and son. "Would you like to place him on the warming table, sir?" she asked, pointing to the cart that had been pulled up next to the delivery bed.  
  
Donna watched Jed's jaw work in an effort to control his emotions as he detached his finger from the tiny grip and slipped his hands beneath the baby. Lifting his son, he cradled him, unconcerned with the smear of blood and afterbirth on his white tuxedo shirt.  
  
"Hey, fella," he cooed. "Did we mess up your day?"  
  
The baby's screams calmed in his father's arms and he opened his blue eyes curiously.  
  
Jed laughed. "Well, you sure made mine."  
  
And the tears came, now, flowed down her cheeks as she watched the man - no, the two men - she loved most in the world.  
  
"Look at this," he grinned. "Look what we created."  
  
Tired, but as happy as she had ever been in her life, Donna sighed. "What love created," she amended.  
  
As he laid the child on the table and the nurses began to clean him up, Dr. Carlstein grinned triumphantly up at them from her continued ministrations. "Congratulations, Mister President. Mrs. Bartlet. What are you going to name him?"  
  
Jed's startled eyes met hers and they simply stared at one another for a moment.  
  
Him.  
  
What are you going to name HIM? Uh oh.  
  
What indeed?  
  
"Child of love, our love's expression, Love's creation, loved indeed! Fresh from God, refresh our spirits, Into joy and laughter lead."  
  
- Ronald S. Cole-Turner "Child of Blessing, Child of Promise" New Century Hymnal, 1995 


End file.
